Lost And Found
by Beregond5
Summary: It's been a year after the War of the Ring. Arwen pays a visit to Emyn Arnen, where she hears the strange tale of a creature hiding in the woods. Yet there's more to the Creature's existence than meets the eye...
1. The Creature

Arwen stood by the window of her room, looking out at the fair land that unfolded before her as Arien arose. Ithilien looked lovely at this time of year, for spring was here and great patches of flowers and grass covered the ground. Taking a deep breath, she smelled the fragrance of the awakening nature and couldn't help but smile. Ithilien reminded her of Rivendell in many ways, unlike Gondor.

Not that she felt unhappy in her new home, far from that. How could she be unhappy when she was by the side of the man she had loved for so many years, even waiting patiently for him till he had finally taken up his position as the King of Men? Besides, Legolas had assured her that the trees his people had planted in Minas Tirith would grow soon and add even further beauty to the city.

A knock at the door cut off her musings and she faced the door with a gentle frown.

"Come in!"

The door opened and a servant girl entered, bowing courteously.

"My lady? Lord Faramir is expecting you at the great hall."

"Very well. Tell him I will join him shortly," the queen said with a friendly smile.

The girl curtsied and walked out once more. Arwen remained by the window for a while longer, gazing over the horizon; until, finally, she placed the royal circlet on her head and walked out as well. She had to admit to herself that she was curious to hear what Faramir had to say to her.

* * *

><p>Faramir was in the great hall, sitting on a great chair and quite lost in thought when Arwen found him. Upon seeing her, however, he swiftly got back on his feet and bowed his head in a polite manner.<p>

"_Suilad, rhín nín_," he said. "_Hodannech mae?_"*

Arwen inclined her head in cordial greeting as well. "I did, thank you."

Faramir smiled, albeit a bit embarrassedly. "Forgive me, my lady. I had forgotten your wish us to speak in the Common Tongue."

"No harm done, lord Faramir. I simply believe that, as Queen of Gondor, I should speak the language of its citizens," Arwen assured him.

"I understand. You're only too kind, my Queen."

Arwen smiled kindly. "And you? How do you fare this morning?"

"Quite well, I thank you," said the Man.

"And your wife, Lady Éowyn?"

"She fares well, though I believe there are times when she misses her home in Rohan."

"I understand the feeling. There are times that I, too, miss my home," Arwen said in sympathy. "But I am certain that, in time, she will start enjoying life in Emyn Arnen. The place has become beautiful."

"It gladdens my heart that you approve, my lady. The Dwarves put forth all their skill to make this fortress the best it could be."

"Indeed; the people who came to settle here from Minas Tirith seem to believe so," Arwen noted. Ever since the fortress in Ithilien was built, an important number of citizens had settled in the fair realm as well. That was one of the reasons that the royal couple of Gondor and Arnor decided that a visit was necessary: to make sure everything was in working order in the colony. It was true that this was more of a typicality, considering both Arwen and Aragorn had absolute faith in Faramir's ruling skills. Nevertheless, it was a good opportunity to renew the firm bonds of alliance and friendship that connected the former Steward and the King. That was the reason why it was Arwen who made the visit rather than any other representative.

"It is unfortunate that King Elessar did not accompany you as well," Faramir said then.

Arwen shook her head solemnly. "I fear Aragorn has to look to the preparations for the oncoming feasts in celebration to the defeat of Sauron. And I should soon be there as well to assist him."

"I understand," said Faramir. "When do you intend to leave?"

"Tomorrow, at the first light of day. And you? When will you and Éowyn honour us with your presence?"

"The day before the festivities. I will leave Dûrinas in my stead," the prince answered. "The advisor has proven his worth at replacing me when necessary more than once and it will be good for both Éowyn and me to ride to Minas Tirith. If anything, she will be more than glad to see her brother; and I will be happy to see Mithrandír and the Halflings."

"As will they, I am certain," Arwen said, laughing softly. "I, however, will welcome most the arrival of my own family. It has been almost two years since I have last seen them."

"To one of the Firstborn, this must seem like only a day," observed Faramir.

"Yet the heartache in parting is just as strong to us as it is to the Secondborn," Arwen pointed out.

Faramir opened his mouth to speak, but a servant appeared and bowed his head in greeting.

"Begging your pardon, my lord. Captain Damrod enquires if you will be able to inspect the troops today."

The man frowned. "I was under the impression that Captain Beregond would do it."

"I am afraid that Captain Beregond has already left for his patrol, my lord. Captain Damrod said that he set off earlier than usually today."

"Ah, of course," Faramir said, remembering himself. "Then tell Captain Damrod to get his men ready, I will come shortly."

The servant bowed and walked out to see to his errand. As soon as he had vanished from sight, Faramir turned to face Arwen.

"I fear I am needed elsewhere, my lady," he said apologetically.

"Do not fret, lord Faramir; I am aware of the duties a prince has," Arwen said kindly. "Besides, this will be my opportunity to visit the gardens within the fortress."

"Then perhaps you will come across Éowyn there as well. That is her usual haunt at about this hour."

"It will be a delight to be at her company," Arwen replied, smiling.

"I believe she will think so, too. She has not made many acquaintances just yet," noted the prince. "And now we should part. I hope you will join me and Éowyn afterwards, at dinner?"

"Of course," said the Elven-woman, brightly. "Till then, lord Faramir," she added, bowing her head courteously.

"Till then, my queen," replied the prince, bowing also.

And with that, they parted ways, each attending to their own matters.

* * *

><p>Arwen enjoyed her walk in the gardens as she marvelled at their beauty, and it almost made her wish Aragorn were with her. He would surely appreciate the blooming nature that now surrounded her and share her contentment.<p>

Then again, she supposed there would be other opportunities. Now, she simply missed her husband, and she was looking forward to seeing him again upon her return to Minas Tirith. It was a wonder how a single day, a mere blink of an eye for a former immortal being, could trudge on and give the impression that time was at a standstill. The thought was rather ironic, to say the least.

Suddenly, Arwen's sharp sense of hearing picked up a sound that made her stop in her tracks. Pricking up her ears, she was intrigued to discover it was a woman's voice, reciting something. Feeling intrigued, the elven woman decided to see who it could be, and she walked in the direction she heard the voice. It didn't take her long to see that it was Éowyn, pacing nervously up and down and reading from a rather thick book.

"Kingsfoil – also known as _athelas_ in the noble tongue and _asëa aranion_ in the high Elven-tongue: a small plant with white petals that gives out a soothing fragrance when bruised. Used rarely as it is not known to have any beneficial medical properties. Grows amid rocks and colonies of old. Once gathered it should be kept in a dry place…"

Éowyn instantly cut off her reading and sat on the ground, a dejected look in her face.

"If it has no beneficiary properties, what is the purpose of learning about it?" she said to no one in particular.

Arwen smiled gently, deeming it was time to make her presence known.

"Well, for one thing, it does have medical properties – wondrous ones in fact. But only in the hands of a king."

Éowyn instantly lifted her gaze, and then quickly stood up to bow. "Forgive me, my queen. I did not see you. Have you been here long?"

"No, be at ease," Arwen assured her, smiling. "I just could not help overhearing your studying of the medicinal herbs."

Éowyn averted her gaze and sighed sadly. "I may be studying it, but I am far from learning anything."

"Why would you wish such a thing, though?" asked Elven-woman curiously. "You are a shieldmaiden, taught in the ways of war."

"Taught in the ways of war, yes; but a shieldmaiden no more," Éowyn corrected. "I promised Faramir I would put aside the sword and become a healer, taking care of every growing thing."

"Has he asked such a thing from you?"

"No," Éowyn admitted. "But I will not have people saying that their lord decided to wed a wild thing from the North either."

Arwen smiled a bit and she stood by Éowyn, noting the fire burning in the mortal woman's eyes. The blonde clearly wanted to prove to the others that she was worthy of her husband's choice.

"Perhaps I could offer my assistance?" she asked. "My father is a healer and he taught me the art."

Éowyn's face beamed at once. "You would do that for me, my queen?"

"Of course. I will even teach you a couple of things that I am certain you will not find in the books."

Éowyn smiled broadly and bowed, touched by the elven woman's offer. "I thank you, my lady."

Arwen, however, waved her hand in a dismissive manner. "Please; a simple 'Arwen' will suffice. Our husbands are already connected with bonds of friendship; we should try the same thing."

Éowyn's cheeks reddened in a rare blush. "As you wish… Arwen."

"Good. Then let us be on our way," the elven woman declared. "No, you do not need the book! I always believed that the best way to learn about herbs is to see them on their natural environment. I passed by some roses a little while ago, so I suggest we start from there. So," at that, her bright eyes tinkled, "shall we?"

Smiling at the Elven-woman's eagerness to teach, Éowyn followed Arwen in the gardens, the book tucked under her arm and forgotten. This would prove a most interesting day.

* * *

><p>Night settled swiftly. Finishing with his duties for the day, Faramir now stood by the courtyard, waiting for Beregond to return from his patrol. However, the sound of laughter made him turn around, just in time to see Éowyn and Lady Arwen conversing mirthfully. The fair woman was the first of the two to notice the man, and she quickly walked up to him to greet him with a loving kiss.<p>

Admittedly, Faramir was caught by surprise at first, yet he answered the kiss with the same love and regretted when he had to pull back in order to address Arwen.

"I trust you enjoyed the walk in the gardens?" he asked.

"Indeed, I have, Lord Faramir," the elf woman answered.

"We both did," Éowyn seconded with a nod. "Lady Arwen helped me with the study of herb lore."

Arwen smiled broadly. "And she is quite a bright student, I may add."

Éowyn couldn't help but blush at that, and Faramir clasped her hand tenderly.

"That is good to hear," he said, and he bowed courteously at Arwen. "Thank you, my queen. It was quite thoughtful of you."

"I will show you what I've learnt latern on," Éowyn promised, only to sober when she realised something was missing from the picture. "Has not the patrol returned yet?"

"No," Faramir said with a shake of his head. "Let us hope they didn't come across any danger; Beregond is hardly ever late."

A neigh echoing from outside the walls put all three at ease, though. The great doors opened, and a group of a dozen horsemen came in, led by the man in question himself. The squires rushed to lead the horses back to their stables once the soldiers dismounted, and Beregond walked up to Faramir, Éowyn and Arwen, greeting them. Faramir clasped both hands on the captain's shoulders, relieved to see his friend safe.

"It was high time you arrived," he said. "Is everything all right?"

"I apologise for my delay, but there have been developments," Beregond replied grimly. "We saw him again."

"What? Where?" Faramir said.

"Not here. I'll tell you later." Beregond warned. It was obvious he didn't want to worry anyone else who might be overhearing.

Faramir pursed his lips momentarily. "Fair enough. Go refresh yourself; you can join us later at dinner and tell us everything then."

Beregond nodded his understanding and turned on his heel, heading up to his quarters.

"Is something amiss?" Arwen asked, unsure what to make of the strange exchange between the two men.

"Not amiss per se," Faramir answered enigmatically. "I will explain things once we retire to the great hall."

Arwen wished she had gotten a more straightforward answer than that, nevertheless she decided to indulge the prince in the particular matter. She would have her answers in time, after all.

* * *

><p>Both women and Faramir had settled at the dinner table in the Great Hall, when Beregond walked in. After bowing courteously, he sat on the chair that was reserved for him and he started eating as well. Silence reigned for many long moments and, for a moment, Arwen was sure that the discussion from before wouldn't be brought up after all. That is, just when dinner reached its end, Faramir spoke.<p>

"Well, Beregond? When did you see our elusive 'friend'?"

"At noon, on our way back to Emyn Arnen. The men and I were resting after many hours of riding, and I saw him from afar, amid some trees. I thought he was a bear or something of the like before I realised who it could be. But when I tried to take a second, better look, he was gone. I told all the men to search the area, and yet no one caught sight of him again. It was as though he had vanished."

"Please, forgive my interruption," Arwen said then, feeling more confused. "Not all of us know the tale from the beginning."

"Of course. Forgive me, my queen. In my eagerness I forgot myself," Faramir said, and he nodded in Beregond's direction. Taking that as a sign to start talking, the First Captain did just that.

"He was first seen three months ago," he said. "Nobody can say if he came to this part of the world recently or if he has been here all his life and only now have we chanced to see him for the first time. He is a Man-like creature, darkly clothed and quite shy of anyone travelling close by. Aall the people who came across him inat some point or other – myself included – were able to get but a glimpse of him before he would disappear in the shadows of the forest."

"Why was Minas Tirith not informed of this?" Arwen asked with a small frown.

"He is only one, and we know nothing about him for that matter," Faramir. "I did not wish to worry anyone else without learning something more about him first. I did not even say a word to the people of Emyn Arnen, not wishing to start any unfounded panic."

"He could still prove a danger, however," Éowyn pointed out. "To me it seems that he avoids being seen by the patrols because he knows he does not stand a chance against a large number of armed people."

"I would have agreed with you, my lady, but for one thing," Beregond said. "The first to have seen this phantom was a woman, collecting fruit in the forest. She was close enough to see a knife tied at his side with a cloth belt and realise that, had he put his mind to it, he could have easily caught her and killed her. Yet all he did when he realised he was being observed was to leave."

"Perhaps he did not know she was alone and did not wish to take any risks?" Arwen suggested.

"Or he was caught by surprise and that unnerved him?" said Éowyn.

"Both theories are quite likely and I considered them myself. But there are a few facts that contradict them," Beregond said. "I talked to the woman, and she told me that one of the two things that surprised her was that, though he had his back to her and she didn't make a sound, he seemed to know she was there; he didn't show any signs of surprise when he finally saw her."

"I see… And what was the other thing that surprised her?" Arwen asked.

"That she never felt threatened by his presence," Beregond said. "And, for that matter, neither did the woodsman who saw him last week, nor I."

"Is that enough of a proof that he is a friend, though?" Éowyn mused.

"No, but it is enough evidence that he is not a foe," Faramir said, signalling to the head servant to have the table cleared. "He merely wants to be left in peace, just like any other forest creature."

"And if he feels provoked?" Arwen asked.

The prince shook his head. "I know not, my Queen. That possibility has not become a probability for the present, that much I can say."

"What needs to happen till it becomes a probability?" Éowyn said. "People must be warned that they should be cautious when venturing out of the fortress."

"My love, though I share your fear, I have reasons to believe that, if the Creature had any intentions to kill, he would manage to do so in spite of any cautions taken. We have seen him three times, indeed. But who knows how many times he has seen _us_, and yet did nothing about it?" Faramir replied. "There is also the problem of what will happen if we do warn the citizens. There will be those who are foolish enough to enter the forest in order to hunt down the Creature and kill him, all for the single purpose of earning praise from everyone. And if they do kill him, nothing will come out of it, except that I will punish the miscreants for disregarding the warning. On the other hand…" the prince emphasized those words, "what will happen if they do not succeed? Then the Creature will have every right to feel provoked and woe will befall any unfortunate enough to walk through the woods."

Eowyn sighed softly. "I understand now what your worry is."

"As do I," Arwen said, and then faced Beregond. "Captain, will you keep an eye on the Creature on your patrols?"

"I will, my Queen. In fact, all my men will keep track of him the best we can," Beregond said. "I cannot make any promises though; he knows how to slip our vigilance."

"As long as you try, it will be enough," Arwen assured him.

Beregond bowed his head, and then turned to Faramir. "May I be excused?"

The prince smiled in understanding. "You can go. I am sure you have a lot to catch up with your brother." For indeed, Iorlas was one of the soldier who had escorted Arwen to Emyn Arnen. It was only natural that the brothers wanted to have a few moments together, sharing their news.

"Thank you," said the other man with a small smile of his own and, after bidding both women goodnight, he walked out.

"I believe we should retire as well. You have an early start tomorrow after all, my queen," Faramir said, standing up too. "Éowyn, will you walk with me to our chambers?"

"If it is all right with you, my love, I will see Lady Arwen to the guest rooms."

"It is no trouble," Faramir said and he kissed his wife lightly on the cheek. "I will see you later on."

"Till then, my love." And with that, Éowyn picked up a lantern and beckoned Arwen to follow her.

* * *

><p>"A most strange tale," Arwen commented as the two women still walked. "I do not know what to make of it."<p>

"Indeed," Éowyn said. "And I cannot help but feel curious about the Creature. Where did he come from? For how long has he been living in the forests of Ithilien? More importantly, what might be his intentions?"

"I am afraid I am not able to answer any of your questions," the Elven lady said with a soft sigh. "Yet I have lived long enough to tell you this: There are many creatures in this world and there are many more destined to enrich it when the time is ripe; and all of them, good or evil, have their purpose in this world and add to the glory of the Valar and Eru, the One."

"I see the wisdom in your words and your advice is fair," Éowyn admitted and she finally stopped in his tracks. "We have arrived to your room. I bid you goodnight, Arwen, till our next meeting."

"Goodnight, Éowyn. I truly enjoyed your company today."

"So have I," the other woman said, smiling back, and then she walked away, around the corner and out of sight.

Arwen entered the room and changed into her night garments before laying down. As she pulled the sheets over her with a soft sigh, she turned and looked out the window, gazing at the stars shining on the dark sky. Although she had appeased Éowyn, she couldn't help but feel rather troubled at this turn of events and she intended to speak of this to Aragorn upon her return. With any luck, he would be able to shed some light into the matter.

With that last thought in her mind, the Elven-lady drifted to the land of dreams, the starlight bathing her and covering her slender form like a second, lighter blanket.

_TBC…_

**Footnotes**:

*_Suilad, rhín nín. Hodannech mae?_"*: Greetings, my lady. Did you rest well? (Sindarin)


	2. Meeting Upon A Storm

Arien hadn't started her journey in the sky yet when Arwen woke up, but the elf-woman knew she had to get up; she had to prepare her things in order to leave at the appointed time. She changed to her travelling clothes, then opened the door and caught sight of a servant. After instructing him to give word to her escort to be ready to set off, she started packing her belongings. She didn't have many things with her – it was only two days' ride from Emyn Arnen to Minas Tirith, so she was soon done. A great rumbling sound had her frown and she looked outside the window. Grey clouds covered the sky and Arwen sensed the humidity in the air.

_Not the best of days to start a journey,_ she thought. Yet it wasn't that which troubled her. For some unknown reason, an unsettling feeling she couldn't name started gnawing in her heart. At first she believed that the conversation she had with Faramir had left a deep impression on her, deeper than she cared to admit. But now a torturous thought and a threat began growing in her mind, warning her that she should be wary on her journey.

She shook her head. Ominous thoughts or no, what she should be thinking was that she had missed Aragorn and she needed to return to him as quickly as possible. She was sure that, once she was back by his side and his arms, she would be able to focus on the tale of the Creature.

Ready at last, she put on her travelling cloak, and she walked out. To her pleasant surprise, she came across Faramir and Eowyn, who wished to say their farewells, so all three of them walked towards the courtyard. Arwen's escort was already there courtyard, waiting for the queen to appear. The only two horses that were still without a rider on them were Arwen's - a proud white stallion – and the commander's, who was now conversing with Beregond.

"It was good to see you again, Second Captain of the Citadel," Beregond remarked, uttering the title in a good-natured tease. "I missed you, and so did Bergil."

"It was good to see you too, my brother," Iorlas answered, placing his arm over his younger sibling's shoulders. "Minas Tirith simply is not the same with you away."

"Will you give the rest of the fellows my regards? Especially Maldir?"

"Of course! I will even meet Meneldor and Rían to make sure she gets her compliments for those sweet cakes she sent you," Iorlas assured him, laughing. "I declare, that woman your friend married thinks you are starving here!"

"She only means well."

"I know, I know," Iorlas said, raising his hand in peace. His eyes caught sight of the queen appearing and he sighed gently. "I should go."

Beregond nodded his understanding, and he wrapped his arms around Iorlas in a brotherly embrace.

"Stay safe."

"You too, little brother."

"Captain Iorlas?" The voice of the servant made both captains turn. "They are waiting for you."

"Lead the way, my good man," Iorlas replied. After one last farewell to Beregond, he mounted his horse and, once Arwen had also settled on her stallion, the company set off with many blessings and kind words from the people of Emyn Arnen.

* * *

><p>Arwen and the soldiers had been riding for some time before it was decided they should stop for a while. They let the horses graze on some blades of grass nearby, while the riders stretched their legs and backs. As they started a fire and brewed some stew for luncheon, Arwen found the opportunity to wash her face and hands as well, since one of the soldiers had discovered a small river nearby.<p>

She had hardly finished drying herself, when the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end at the uncomfortable feeling of being watched. And there, in the reflection of the water, she saw the unmistakable form of a cloaked man, kneeling by the bank.

Arwen instantly lifted her head but, to her utter surprise and puzzlement, there was no one around. She looked down again, trying to determine whether she was imagining things, and a gasp of astonishment escaped her lips at what she saw: locks of black hair, flowing by her at the whim of the current. All she could do was watch the strange vision frozen, trying to comprehend what was happening… and then a gust of wind carried to her ears the sound of crying.

It was Iorlas' voice that plunged her back into reality, making her link in puzzlement.

"My Queen, the men are ready to set off again."

Arwen almost hesitated, eyes still looking every which way to catch sight of the source of her vision. There was none though.

"My Queen? Is something amiss?" Iorlas asked, noticing how shaken Arwen was.

She shook her head at once. "Go ahead, I will join you shortly."

Iorlas nodded his compliance and turned on his heel. He had barely taken a couple of steps before looking up in the sky, however.

"The clouds have become darker. It's going to rain soon."

Arwen looked up as well, only to see that Iorlas was right. Worse, her sharper vision enabled her to see lightning in the distance now. This was no mere rain; it was a storm and it was coming in their direction fast.

"Then we shouldn't waste any more time," she said. She hurried with Iorlas to the rest of the soldiers and, after the captain barked a few precise orders, they were on the move once more.

No matter how fast the travellers rode on, though, they didn't manage to escape the terrible tempest. In less than a half hour, big drops of rain started pouring on them and their cloaks did little to keep them dry for long. Darkness surrounded them, and everyone tried hard to look beyond the torrent that seemed to whip them mercilessly. Booming thunders nearly deafened them, while it was only their mastery that kept their steeds on their course instead of bolting.

"It is as though the Valar's wrath broke out against us!" Iorlas cried over the neighs of his frightened horse.

"Yet we must move on!" Arwen answered, who was forging on beside him. "There is no cover nearby we can use!"

If Iorlas ever meant to answer, he never had the chance. A lightning bolt struck close to the company and, though the riders protected their eyes on time, the horses were less fortunate. Blinded by the sudden flash of light, the poor creatures reared and neighed terrified and their masters could control them no more. It was only after much coaxing and calm talk that the steeds had regained part of their composure.

Patting his mare's neck encouragingly, Iorlas turned to see how the rest of the troops fared and started calling out the soldiers' names.

"Here!" the riders called back one by one. But when Iorlas called for his queen, there was no answer.

"My Lady?" the captain cried out, only to receive the crack of another thunder as answer. A new wave of lightning lit the area and all the soldiers saw with their own eyes the horrible truth that they had feared: the Queen of Gondor wasn't amongst them and she was nowhere else to be seen either.

* * *

><p>Arwen tried to talk to her horse and make him stop, but it was of no use. The stallion had been closest to where that fateful lightning had struck and he was frightened out of his wits. Now he ran as fast as his legs could carry him in a state of panic, barely missing the trees and bushes that stood on his way and taken the elven-woman further away from the company and from safety… and there was nothing she could do about it.<p>

And then, true disaster came: betrayed by the rain-soaked ground, the poor beast lost his footing and fell down, neighing painfully. Arwen was thrown violently off the horse and she landed unceremoniously on the ground, crying out her own pain as she hit her head hard against a tree stump. She tried to rise but she felt too dizzy and confused, while her stallion's constant neighs kept ringing in her ears, making her head feel even worse.

Then the whinnies ceased altogether, something that sent a chill to Arwen's heart. She looked over her shoulder slowly, and she saw a dark form stooping over the stallion. It wasn't that which changed her fright into dread and horror, though. Crimson liquid streamed out of the horse's neck, and in the black-clothed silhouette's hand was the weapon that had ended the steed's life: a small dagger, its thin and elegant blade glistening brightly despite the blood that stained it. It was also unlike any other dagger Arwen had seen in her life, for it was curved to the point that its shape resembled Ithil at his waxing and its handle was thick and made of iron. As she tried to figure out who could possibly wield such a weapon, Arwen remembered Faramir and Beregond's tale. Then she knew who was before her.

The Creature had by now stepped back from the horse's side, catching sight of Arwen. Walking cautiously, he now approached her, his dagger still at hand and his face hidden in the shadows. Lightning struck again and both adversaries were able to get a brief glimpse of each other's form for a single instant.

Snapping into action, Arwen quickly got back on her feet and drew her own means of defence: her sword.

"Stay away!" she warned, mustering all her courage. To her misfortune, however, the quick motion nauseated her and she felt faint. Falling into a swoon, her hand dropped the sword and the last thing she registered before she plunged into the darkness of oblivion was that she never hit the ground as she had expected.


	3. Aglarad

When Arwen regained her consciousness, she was surprised to feel warmth surrounding her. Frowning, she opened her eyes, and she wondered to find herself in the safety of a room. More than just a little confused, she tried to push herself into a sitting position, but the dizziness still had a strong hold on her. She groaned painfully.

"No! You must lie still!"

Arwen turned to the sound of that voice and saw a young girl rushing toward her and gently prodding her down. The elven-woman complied and lied down once more, realising that it was the best thing to do to ease her nausea. Yet she still wanted an answer to the question that lingered in her mind.

"Where am I? How did I get here?"

"Daurir found you in the forest. He brought you here so your injury would be tended. We both did our best but we're not healers," the woman replied. Her eyes locked on Arwen's leaf-shaped ears. "Still, Daurir said there is no need for worry – your kind recovers quickly."

Arwen couldn't help but smile at the last comment. "Yes, it does," she answered, her fingers encountering the pieces of cloth that were tied around her head. She looked at the girl again. She didn't show it, but Arwen felt intrigued by the young woman who tended her, for her appearance was quite strange. Her small, lithe form and round face made her seem like a girl only a breath away from her coming of age. Sleek, jet-black hair fell behind her back, and her complexion had a most unusual hue: it was yellowish, but not because of poor health, as Arwen had witnessed on patients her father tended. Her arms, also small and delicate, bore braces, which were decorated with engraved letters that Arwen had never seen before. What struck to the elven-woman the most, however, were the girl's eyes: they were black and almond-shaped, and the great sadness reflected through them revealed how aged the girl was truly in spirit.

"Daurir also said that he is sorry he had to kill your horse, but it couldn't be helped," the girl said it that moment, cutting her off her train of thought. "Two of its legs were broken and it was suffering too much already."

Arwen's eyes widened when she registered those words, because until then she had believed that Daurir was simply the name of the young woman's husband. Now, however, she realised how wrong she was and whom the girl was actually talking about.

"You know the Creature?" she faltered, stunned.

The girl stared at the Elven-woman for some moments in confusion; then laughed, even though Arwen noticed a sad ring in that mirth.

"I know he has many names, this is the first time I hear this one though," said the young mortal. "Is that how they came to call him in this part of the world?"

"Yes," Arwen answered, sitting up once more, this time cautiously. "From which part of the world has he gotten the name of Daurir?" Though Arwen had recognised the name as foreign, the language was unknown to her.

"From the same parts I have gotten my own," the girl answered. "Rhûn is the region called and Aglarâd I was named by the same people that named him."

Arwen regarded Aglarâd, her words clearly filling her with awe. "I have heard of that realm, where the stars are strange," she finally said, "though this is the first time that I have met someone from there."

Aglarâd shook her head at this. "We indeed come from there, but neither of us ever belonged there and that is why we left. We arrived in these woods after much toil and grief."

"And whose is this house?" Arwen asked. She looked around the room, despite the fact that there wasn't much to see: it was only a small room and scarcely furnished.

"It belongs to the people who welcomed me here in exchange for my services," Aglarâd answered. "The couple is quite old and they needed somebody to tend to them."

"But only you," noted the elven-woman. "They know not of Daurir, then?"

The girl nodded. "And he would not wish it otherwise."

The Firstborn felt more perplexed than ever now.

"Who would wish to live in the forest alone, forsaking all?"

"Someone who was forsaken by all," Aglarâd answered simply.

Arwen was hardly satisfied with that answer, but before she had the opportunity to ask for any further explanations, an old woman's voice was heard, calling for the girl.

"I must leave," said Aglarâd, agitated. "My lady, the masters of the house don't know you are here, so, please, stay within my quarters and rest in the meantime. I will return as soon as I can." And with that, she walked out of the room, leaving Arwen alone with her thoughts.

The elven-woman remained still for many long moments, pondering on the conversation she had with the girl. Arwen felt it was frustrating that, though she had finally found some answers concerning the Creature, she was now faced with even more questions: what did Daurir look like? She had quickly dismissed her first thought that he probably resembled Aglarâd in appearance. Despite the fact that her memories of her encounter with him were only a blur, she could recall clearly that his form was quite tall. On the other hand, she didn't have a good look on his face…

Then it was Aglarâd's words to be considered. If Daurir wasn't from Rhûn, what reasons did he have to venture there? And what reasons drove him and his so young companion away from that region? One question, however, tormented Arwen above all else: why did Daurir choose this lonely life and why did Aglarâd say about him that he was forsaken?

Sighing, Arwen rubbed her forehead as her headache was becoming unbearable once more. Feeling that she wouldn't be able to sort out her thoughts in her condition, she decided to follow Aglarâd's suggestion and rest. Her last thought, before sleep finally claimed the injured lady, was of Aragorn - and if he would find out what happened to her.

* * *

><p>Night had settled over the White City and the bustling sounds that could be heard all day were finally dying down. Most of the citizens had been working vigorously for the preparations of the celebrations that would take place in less than a week. The king was expecting several quite honourable guests and everything had to be perfect for the occasion.<p>

"Make sure that the servants are spread throughout the banquet hall," Aragorn instructed his head servant, who was listening carefully to what his king had to say. "I wish our guests feel well tended."

"It will be done as you say, Sire."

"Good," the king said approvingly. "That will be all for the present, you may go."

The head servant bowed low and walked out, greeting courteously to both Elf and Dwarf who were now entering the room. Aragorn smiled upon seeing Legolas and Gimli and quickly went up to them to greet them as well.

"Welcome back, my friends! Have you taken that walk around Minas Tirith?"

"We have," Legolas answered with a broad smile. "The trees have been flourishing quite well."

"And the stonework is still sturdy – though I had no doubts about that," added Gimli with a tinge of pride; for it had been the Dwarves that had rebuilt the city after Sauron's fall.

"I am glad to hear it," Aragorn said. "I have already arranged that all of us will dine together, so I can hear more about any tidings you have to say."

That chance, however, never came to be. In that very moment the doors burst open and a soldier rushed in, followed by a couple of dismayed servants.

"Sire, we tried to stop him, but…" started one of them; yet the soldier turned out to be faster as he quickly knelt down and kissed the ring on Aragorn's hand.

"Forgive me, my lord, but this could not wait. I rode hard for many miles, without giving myself or my horse a moment of rest."

"Get up and speak," Aragorn said, exchanging a brief glance with Legolas and Gimli. All three knew that the soldier's upset state meant only ill news.

Though the soldier obeyed, he didn't dare look his lord in the eyes as he told his tale.

"I was with Captain Iorlas's men as the Queen's escort. We were riding back to Minas Tirith when a terrible storm broke out on our way. Then a lightning bolt struck amongst us, driving our horses out of control, and we lost sight of Lady Arwen. Her horse had run off with her."

Silence reigned in the hall for many long moments as such news left everyone dumbfounded.

"You did not try to find her?" Aragorn asked, feeling as though his heartbeat had come to a standstill.

"We did. We found her horse lying dead in a clearing, both its front legs broken. Yet it wasn't that that had killed it; someone had slit its throat open. The Queen, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen. This is all we discovered of her." The soldier handed the king Arwen's royal circlet.

Aragorn nodded slightly his understanding. "Take some rest. I will gather some men and you will take me where Captain Iorlas and the others are." Then he turned to the servants that were still standing close by. "Summon the third company, and make sure that they all have torches with them."

The servants bowed low and rushed out of the room, followed by the soldier. Aragorn, meanwhile, seemed to have frozen in his place, his gaze locked on his beloved's coronet. Still, both Elf and Dwarf watched their friend closely and they both saw how Aragorn's fingers gripped the head ornament tightly, his arms trembling. After exchanging a brief look, Legolas and Gimli approached the Man.

"We will find her and you will give it back to her," said Legolas, resting a hand on Aragorn's shoulder.

Aragorn met Legolas's look. "You said we?"

"Such a surprise makes me think that you actually did not expect that," Gimli noted with a broad grin. "We will not remain idle when you need every help you can get."

Aragorn stared incredulously at the Dwarf, then at the Elf, for many moments; then his face brightened with a grateful smile.

"Thank you, my friends."

"The Three Hunters shall set forth again," Legolas said, his eyes brightening. "I will tell someone to have Arod ready."

"I will come with you, so I can get our weapons from our quarters," Gimli declared. "We will wait for you in the courtyard, Aragorn."

"And I will join you shortly," said the Man. "As soon as I inform the men that will accompany us."

Thus everyone went to prepare their departure, not knowing what they would come across, but determined to find the Queen.

* * *

><p>Arwen's eyes focused back to awareness as she woke up once more. She stirred, relieved to realise that she wasn't feeling so light-headed anymore, and then carefully sat up. She was truly recovering, that much she understood, for her body was humming with life again.<p>

Though it was dark in the room and Ithil was covered in clouds, Arwen was still able to see, her elven eyesight sharp. So, she was soon on her feet and heading for the door. She hoped that she would be able to catch a glimpse of Aglarâd. After all, whether Arwen liked it or not, the girl was the only one she could turn to at this hour, if she wanted to find a way to return to Minas Tirith and learn more about Daurir.

With that thought in mind, she reached for the door handle. She came to an abrupt stop, however, when she heard Aglarâd speaking.

"She is better. Not fully recovered, but her strength returns. I left her sleeping."

Understanding about whom Aglarâd was talking, Arwen pressed herself against the door, wishing to hear more and, more importantly, to find out to whom the girl was talking. The queen still recalled Aglarâd saying that the masters of this house didn't know of her presence.

"No, I didn't try to find out who she is. I thought it best to let her be for the present. She has been through enough hardships."

Arwen remained perfectly still, trying to understand what was going on. She heard no one else speaking, yet Aglarâd talked as though answering to someone.

"She seems a noble woman though. Her clothing is of good quality and she has a regal air I haven't seen in anyone before."

Finally unable to help her curiosity, Arwen turned the handle, allowing herself a small smile when she saw that she wasn't locked inside; then opened the door just enough to have a peek in the other room.

It was indeed Aglarâd, standing near the window of what appeared to be the kitchen, and she wasn't alone. Arwen could clearly see the form of a man sitting cross-legged by the fireplace, his back turned to her and the girl. The brightness of the flames didn't allow Arwen to see much of him. Nevertheless the elven-woman could still tell that he was tall with broad shoulders and had a strongly-built body frame. His hooded cloak, which the man still wore, was torn and weather-beaten.

But it was the same strange knife that had slain her horse in the name of pity, now neatly tied on the man's side, that revealed to her at whom she was looking.

"Daurir, you haven't eaten anything again," Aglarâd said at that moment, her sadness clearly audible.

Indeed, beside the man there was a plate full of food that was barely touched. Daurir, however, merely shrugged, something that made the girl kneel next to him.

"You may not feel hungry, but you have to eat. Every time that you come here I see how much less strength there is left in you. Or do you think that I didn't notice how violently your limbs trembled in weariness after carrying that woman all this way?"

Daurir bowed his head and looked away, but Aglarâd was far from finished. She took hold of the man's hand, and gasped in shock.

"You're still so very cold! And you've been sitting by the fire for over an hour!" she exclaimed. "Please, stay here for the night. I don't want you to be out there, not on such a black and freezing night. I can't bear it!"

Daurir clasped Aglarâd by the shoulder, shaking his head emphatically, and pointed first Aglarâd's eyes, then at the door behind which Arwen was. At first, the queen was afraid they had found out they were being overheard, but Aglarâd's next words assuaged her fears.

"I understand why you want me to look after her; but how can you ask of me not to be concerned about you?"

Another series of hand signals finally proved to Arwen that Daurir was, for some reason, deprived of his voice. The elven-woman watched in awe the cloaked figure speak his thoughts in such an extraordinary way and how well Aglarâd understood him.

Suddenly, Aglarâd's eyes grew wide.

"No!" she cried. "I mourned Torion's passing, I will not mourn yours too!"

Arwen didn't have the luxury to try and understand what Daurir could have possibly said to cause such an answer, for in that very moment the cloaked figure arose and walked slowly towards the door. Aglarâd swiftly got on her feet as well and turned at his direction.

"Go with her! Join her folk and reclaim what was taken from you! Surely you can see this chance for a new life!"

With an abrupt turn, Daurir turned to Aglarâd and, grabbing her hand violently, he uncovered his face to finally reveal his features. Arwen bit her hand as not to gasp her surprise and fright. Daurir was no Man: he was an _elf_, perhaps even a comely one at that not long ago. Now, however, only his leaf-shaped ears proved to anyone his race. His raven-black hair was short, reaching only at the jaw line; his face was lean and sickly pale, his lips bloodless. His eyes, which must have one time shone brilliantly with unburdened life, were now glistening with fatigue and the darkness of frosty indifference, making them seem almost black. And now that he was piercing Aglarâd with a look full of anger, he seemed far more terrible and threatening.

But before Arwen had the chance to rush to the girl's aid, fearing for Aglarâd's safety, Daurir's grip loosened and his expression softened to sadness.

_What life?_ he mouthed at his young friend, and then he retreated slowly towards the door that led outside. His eyes stayed locked on Aglarâd, and walked out. He never saw the girl falling on her knees, nor did he allow himself to hear her sobs as he disappeared in the black veil of the wilderness.

Long did Aglarâd weep; until, feeling sympathy for the girl's distress, Arwen came out of her hiding place and knelt beside her. Before she had realised it, the queen even reached and held the mortal woman tightly in a soothing embrace.

"You heard everything?" the girl asked amid her tears after many moments had passed.

"I heard enough," the elven-woman answered truthfully. Her eyes locked on the door from where Daurir walked out. "I have never seen anyone of my kind in such bitterness and anger." _Nor in such a pitiable state,_ she added in her mind.

"If you knew, my lady, you wouldn't blame him," Aglarâd said with a sigh, wiping her tears.

"You know of his tale, then?" Arwen asked.

Aglarâd nodded. "For the most part anyway. But, my lady, if it is all right with you, I do not wish to tell you of it just yet. For it is a tale which reminds me of my own pain."

"Then speak of it whenever you feel comfortable about it," Arwen assured her with a small smile.

"Thank you."

Just then, a rooster crowed in the distance, making both women turn to the window.

"I suggest we go have some rest while we can," Aglarâd said. "You haven't fully recovered yet."

"Fair advice. We will not speak of such matters again for the present."

Aglarâd bowed in courtesy, offering in this way her thanks; then showed Arwen to her room before she also rested by the fireplace.

TBC...

**Footnotes**:

_Useless trivia: As far as I know, Tolkien never invented a Rhunish tongue; so I'm using Adunaic instead. Aglarâd means "brilliant life" and Daurir means "dark one"._


	4. Riddles

When Arwen stirred awake once more, the sun was already up. She stretched sleepily, glad that she didn't feel any discomfort, and got back on her feet silently. She headed to the door and, after listening intently to make sure she didn't hear any sign of a human presence, she walked into the kitchen. Indeed, there was no one there, even if the fire was burning strongly, a large pot with boiling water over it. The only thing that breathed in the room was a short, yet stocky grey dog, sleeping soundly on a rug until the Elven-woman came in. The dog opened its eyes, yet it didn't seem alarmed to see a stranger in the house it was guarding. It even half-closed its eyes dreamily when Arwen petted its head, appreciating the affection.

"_Istach ú-im coth_,"* Arwen murmured with a smile, aware that all kind animals had a natural trust in the Elven race. That explained why the dog didn't even make a sound when Daurir had brought her here, to Aglarâd's care.

Once she letting the dog fall into its relaxed slumber again, Arwen saw on the table a plate filled with fruit and a note beside it. Curiosity overwhelming her, she picked up the note and read it carefully.

"The breakfast is for you, my lady. Eat and then please return to the room. I will meet you after the darkness falls to give the answers you seek."

Arwen ate the meal gladly, for she felt famished. As she still ate, however, her eyes ran over the note again, examining the handwriting. Though Aglarâd knew how to write - that much was clear - the writing was still shaken and uncertain; it was evident she had learned to use the quill very late in life. Could it be that Daurir had taught her? That possibility didn't seem all that far-fetched. She and Daurir seemed quite close…

But then, what of Torion? Arwen remembered well the other name the girl had mentioned and the elven woman couldn't help but wonder what was his connection to the two, and how he had met his end.

The light sound of the knife hitting the bottom of the empty plate cut her off her musings. She looked down, and her eyes locked on the ring that was circling one of her fingers: a small, yet elegant silver ring with a beautifully carved diamond on it. Sighing sadly, she took off the ring and looked at it for many long moments. Aragorn had given her that ring on the day of their marriage.

Her heart filled with longing, and her gaze drifted to the window and the woods that could be seen beyond.

_Where are you? _she thought, even though she knew that she wouldn't get an answer. All that was left for her to do was wait to hear Aglarâd's story. And though she didn't like this kind of inertia, she knew that she had to accept it for now.

* * *

><p>"Sire, there's smoke straight ahead of us!" one of Aragorn's scouts cried out. "It looks like the smoke of a camp."<p>

"How far from here?" the king asked, halting Brego on its tracks.

"About an hour's ride," came the answer.

"It could be woodsmen," Gimli pointed out, popping his head from behind Legolas. Riding with an elf had its disadvantages height-wise.

"No, my friend. The men I see carry armour and weapons and bear the military colours of Gondor," Legolas said then, looking towards the trail of smoke, his sight sharp as always.

"That means it's Captain Iorlas and his men," Aragorn replied and guided his horse up to the elf. "Do you see Undómiel with them, Legolas?"

Legolas's only answer was silence and a shake of his head. Aragorn sighed and nodded his understanding.

"Let us go and meet them then," he said, spurring Brego onwards. Though he tried to hide his emotional turmoil, he was certain that Legolas and Gimli saw through him.

An hour's ride later, the party had finally reached the camp that Captain Iorlas's team had set up. As the first one to see them, the Second Captain of the Citadel rushed to meet his lord and bowed his head in greeting. That's how he stayed, guilt and shame overwhelming him after failing his lord.

"You're not responsible for what has happened," Aragorn said reassuringly, and dismounted in one experienced motion. Legolas and Gimli followed his example and walked by his side, eager to hear of any news.

Iorlas sighed gently. "I am afraid we have not been able to discover much, for all our efforts, Sire," he said. "We did not come across any sign of the Queen nor any other sign that could have given us a clue as to her whereabouts."

"This doesn't make any sense," Gimli said, voicing what Legolas and Aragorn thought. "Why not stay near the horse? That would seem a more logical course of action to me, were I to be stranded in the forest with no knowledge of which direction to take."

"That can only mean ill," Legolas seconded. "Either she was forced to leave…"

"Or she was taken," Aragorn completed.

Silence reigned at that kind of possibility, and it was Iorlas who finally broke the spell.

"If there was any foul play, the culprits would not be able to go far. There are no caves or so many houses where they could hide. The only house we found was inhabited by an elderly couple who could not help us; they did not see anything unusual and they assured me that, if there was anything out of the ordinary, the guard dog would have barked…"

The captain's voice trailed off, for he noticed that the king and his dwarven companion were watching the elf intently. Indeed, the Mirkwood prince had walked a bit further away, his body as tense as a bowstring, eyes wide open as he looked in every direction.

"What is it, Legolas?" Aragorn asked in a whisper as he treaded slowly toward the Firstborn. "Do you hear something?"

"No," Legolas answered, just as softly. "Yet something has its gaze locked on us, watching our every move. Studying us… waiting."

Iorlas frowned, his eyes darting in every direction.

"Where?" whispered Iorlas.

"I am not certain," Legolas said, his hand gripping the bow tightly.

What came next happened in the blink of an eye. All four of people jumped aside to avoid the sword that had been thrown against them. Just as its blade got jabbed into the trunk of a tree behind them, Legolas shot an arrow in the direction he had seen the projectile flying from. There was the unmistakable sound of a number of twigs breaking under weight, and then everyone snapped into action. Legolas rushed ahead, one of his blades already in his hand, and Aragorn and Gimli followed close to his heels. Even as they looked around, though, they could see nothing. At first.

"Looks like your aim was good," Gimli noted. Indeed, a few droplets of blood had stained the ground red.

"And yet there is no sign of our quarry," Legolas replied. "I must have merely grazed him."

"Then again, I do not think we are dealing with any usual foe," Aragorn said in that moment.

"What do you mean?" Gimli asked, confused.

"Do you see any footmarks?" the Man asked, pointing on the ground. "And yet someone was here. If the blood stains were not enough proof, this," and at that Aragorn picked up a piece of black cloth that was tangled amid some freshly broken branches of a bush, "is enough evidence."

"We are not talking about a ghost then," Gimli said. "But how can one leave no tracks? He must be as light as a feather!"

"As light as an Elf, more likely," Legolas said, and he stepped aside to prove his point. There was hardly any sign that the Mirkwood prince was standing on the particular place a few moments ago.

"Sire!" Iorlas' voice sounded then and, mere moments later, the very man himself appeared, the sword in his hands. Aragorn pursed his lips, for it had taken only one look to recognise the blade.

"It is Arwen's."

"The riddle darkens," Legolas noted thoughtfully.

"I could not agree more to that," said Gimli. "I only know of two Elves in these parts of the world: one is standing right beside me and the other would never use her sword against us."

"There is something else which is troubling me as well," Aragorn said as his eyes locked on the shadows of the woods. "If there is indeed an Elf in the forest and we came across him, why would he attack even one of his own kindred?"

Legolas nodded his own puzzlement at this good question as well. Kinslaying was considered an appalling crime among Elves; a crime loathsome enough to rouse even the wrath of the Valar, in fact. Now, however, it seemed that one Elf was ready to disregard it. Unless…

"Attack was not his intent."

Aragorn nodded, catching up with his friend's train of thought. "It was a distraction so he would find his chance to run off once he was discovered."

"And he did a good job at it too," Gimli seconded thoughtfully.

Though Aragorn didn't answer, a part of him marvelled at their adversary's quick thinking. Still, the man couldn't help but wonder what would an elf be doing in these parts of the world. There were no elven colonies that would justify his presence here. Moreover, there was no reason to hide from Legolas, so why hide? And, ultimately, did this elf know anything about Arwen's fate?

"Sire?" Iorlas asked, breaking the spell of silence that had reigned.

"The hope is faint, but there might be more bloodstains on the ground," Aragorn answered, snapping out of his musings. "Have the men look in every direction for any sign of the elf. If anyone knows anything about what happened to the Queen, it is certainly he. Meanwhile, Master Gimli, Prince Legolas and I will head north in search of our mysterious adversary. If anyone finds out anything, one call with the horn should suffice to summon the rest. Otherwise, we will meet back at the camp at sunset."

Iorlas bowed and barked his orders to the other soldiers, just as the Hunters saw to their own task at hand.

* * *

><p>Night had already settled when Aglarâd came into the room Arwen was in. The elven-woman couldn't help but notice how thoughtful and worried the girl was, nevertheless she didn't speak of it.<p>

"You know why I came," Aglarâd said simply.

The queen nodded her answer and, deeming it was time, the Easterling sat down and started telling her tale.

TBC…

**Footnotes**:

*_Istach ú-im coth_: You know I'm no enemy. (Sindarin)


	5. Daurir

_A/N: This chapter contains dark imagery and also R-rated torture and violence. I tried to keep them as implied as possible so I wouldn't have to raise the rating of the story, but I could only do that much. Please consider yourselves warned before reading further._

* * *

><p>"As I have already told you, my lady, I wasn't born in Rhûn. My home is further east, beyond the mountains, and beyond any trees for that matter; in the world I am coming from there is no green to bring joy to the land. Everything is covered by rock and sand, while the water is scarce. Anyone unfamiliar with the territory has sealed their fate once they set foot on it, for a scorching sun burns the skin and a freezing night makes the blood run cold in their veins. Sandstorms either whip the flesh off the very bone or block the lungs and choke their victim to death, making them feast for the birds of carrion. Yet it is not the worst thing one encounters in this sea of dunes. Were-worms so long that they could touch the sky are lurking beneath the ground to swallow anything or anyone to fill their ever-empty stomachs.*<p>

"You may think little of the region by the way I'm speaking of it, my lady. Nevertheless people can live there, even though they are always on the move and fighting amongst themselves for the little fertile ground and water they come across. For as the grains of sand shift hither and thither at the wind's whim, we too shifted places constantly in order to survive.

"My tribe was more fortunate than others, that much can be said. We lived at the western outskirts of the Desert, where there was more green and water in comparison to the other territories. Moreover, jagged rocks protected us from the east from any intruders who could have tried to gain our land as their own. Thus it was that we were able to stay there permanently without fear.

"Yet there came a time that our relatively peaceful life was disrupted. I was no more than seven years of age, but I can still recall the hordes riding from Rhûn, attacking us with many a war-cry. Though the men tried to fight them back so as to offer the women and children the chance to flee, the raiders were too fierce. The battle ended quickly, and soon the clash of swords was replaced by another, far more terrible sound: screams of anguish."

Aglarâd tensed involuntarily, images of the destruction piercing her mind. It wasn't as painful to talk about the fate of her tribe and her family as to replay in her mind's eye all the indescribable mayhem and carnage she had been forced to see. When light fingers touched hers and she looked up, however, the queen's gentle smile was encouraging, reassuring… even comforting. It was enough to fill the girl with new strength of heart and pick up the thread of her tale once more.

"Whoever survived was taken back to Rhûn to be sold as a slave. I was sold as a servant girl, and thus got separated from my mother and brother; I have not seen them or heard of them again since I was taken away.

"Not that there was a chance for regret. I was soon to discover that the man whom I had to call master made a living out of organising fights. I was expected to offer food and drink to the spectators and, later on, to entertain them as a dancer between fights."

The queen winced visibly. "Did he use you as…?"

Aglarâd shook her head. "No. My master was a shrewd businessman. He knew whatever money he would gain in using me in such a way would be lost once more if things became... complicated… accidentally," she said as tactfully as possible. "As a matter of fact, he didn't allow anyone to attempt anything against my person. It was something that I welcomed with relief.

"Thus the years passed without incedent. My master favoured me for my obedience and rewarded me with finery and jewellery as it would be fit a dancer so popular with the spectators and the customers. For my name was whispered with admiration among the men and with jealousy among the women." She sighed. "Yet there was an emptiness inside me which couldn't be filled."

"Then the War broke out and my master had to leave to fight. He left behind his son in charge, since a birth defect had prevented the boy to take up a military life. Even so, his bad leg didn't prevent him from doing as he pleased at his father's absence, earning everyone's resentment within the household. If our master and his guards, men just as cruel and corrupted as the son, hadn't earned our fear, then we would have escaped long ago.

"Some time later, tidings arrived from the battlefield, but it weren't good for Rhûn. And soon the soldiers started returning, ashamed and crestfallen, confirming their defeat by the men from the West. But the master had earned a small victory of his own, for he had returned with a prize.

"I never had the chance to find out Daurir's real name to tell it to you, my lady, but his dark mood certainly justified the name my master had given him. The wrath reflected in his eyes was enough to make us all nervous around him, more so when our master warned everyone in the household not to be fooled by his fair appearance; several of the guards that kept him in chains had already paid the price for making that mistake. In fact, everyone got so afraid of Daurir that, in the long run, the task of providing him with food and water was handed to me. I can't even recall how many times he frightened me with his abrupt movements and piercing gaze before a grudging tolerance and finally a wavering friendship started forming between us. And with Torion's help, he even taught me how to read and write, strengthening our connection."

"Who was Torion?" Arwen asked curiously.

"Daurir's friend, who was also taken captive and brought to Rhûn. He was the only one Daurir turned to with love, the only one he trusted before he came to terms with my presence in the cell. Yet that name wasn't real either. It was merely a nickname that Daurir used to call him, clearly in some arrangement between them. For Torion never called Daurir by his true name either. If anyone ever heard their names, I would not know of it."

Arwen nodded slowly, another thought crossing her mind. Torion probably meant something more to Daurir, for the word _torion_ meant "brother's son" in the Elven-tongue. That could only mean that Daurir was taken captive with his nephew, not merely his friend like Aglarâd was led to believe.

The young Easterling carried on with her narrative, not noticing Arwen's thoughtful expression.

"Though they were both in chains, Daurir and Torion didn't resemble slaves at all. They strengthened each other's heart and protected themselves against any kind of challenge our master forced them to fight. The first day they were placed in the arena they won a spectacular victory and the audience loved them instantly, making our master even richer than he already was. Daurir and Torion, however, hated this situation. They tried to escape on a number of occasions, but all attempts werefruitless. They could not hide forever in a region they didn't know, where no one was willing to help them."

Arwen frowned. "I believed there were Elves in Rhûn. They would help them, surely?"

"Why would they do that, my lady?" Aglarâd asked bitterly. "In Rhûn, everyone is looking after themselves. Besides, two months after their captivity, they couldn't escape even if they wanted to."

"Why? What happened?"

Aglarâd wrung her hands nervously.

"As I said, Daurir and Torion made a good team and they always won the matches our master set for them. But, one day, another man challenged our master and thus the prizefighters had to face three great striped beasts from the depths of the East, a place where the forests are so thick they can smother you alive.

"At that fight, everything went awry: one of the beasts managed to throw down Torion and tear off his arm. At the smell of the blood, the animals went mad with frenzy and they charged against the fallen warrior. Yet Daurir turned out to be a better match for the beasts and slew them all before any further harm came to his friend. And, before anyone could stop him, he rushed to Torion's aid and looked after his injury. And, though it took many days and all of Daurir's efforts, in the end, he managed to save his friend's life.

"It was to no avail. Our master wasn't willing to let Torion live, not when he was useless to him. Before Torion even had the time to recover fully, the master came with two guards to drag the wounded warrior away and execute him.

"Thus I witnessed a sight I never believed I would see: Daurir falling on his knees and begging for Torion's life. Yet for all his pleading, our master wouldn't have it. It would cost him far less to dispose of Torion rather than have him alive at his expense. And he would have truly killed Torion hadn't Daurir's next words stopped him.

'"I will do anything you wish, just let him live!'

"Our master's eyes glinted malevolently, seeing the chance that was presented before him. 'Anything? Do you swear it?'

'"Anything, as long as you let him live,' Daurir reapeated steadfastly, though it was clear to all of us present what the master would ask of him.

"With a sneer that made everyone feel nervous, our master approached the kneeling Daurir and towered over him.

'"Bow to me.'

"Daurir complied, inclining his head and locking his gaze on the ground.

'"Lower,' our master crooned, taking pleasure in seeing the immortal being submitting to him.

"Daurir obeyed again, until he was finally flat on the ground, and then he felt the Man placing his foot on his neck, forcing him to stay down. Daurir's eyes sparked with anger and his hands clenched into fists, yet he knew he was in no position to react.

'"Do you swear to your gods that I am your lord and master, that you offer me any services I am to ask of you without an objection from your lips? That you will not try to escape this fate by any means your kindred knows?"

'"No! Don't do it!' Torion shouted as much as his lungs permitted him in his weakened state, but that only earned him a slap from the guards.

"Daurir remained silent for many long moments, swallowing hard as if trying to drown down his pride. In the end, he said two words only.

"'I swear.'

'"You swear what?' our master snarled, triumph written in his features.

'"I swear… my lord and master,' Daurir added in a hardly audible voice, and his eyes shut in shame.

"Our master removed his foot from Daurir's neck, smirking.

'"Good.'

With that, he walked away, not bothering to look back to his prizefighter. Daurir, on the other hand, had remained where he lay with hardly a muscle moving, and Torion then found the opportunity to sit up. Using my hand as support, he walked with what strength was in him to talk to his friend.

'"Why did you do it, you fool?' he said softly. 'Do you realise that you have just condemned yourself?'

"Daurir never answered. He simply rose and sat quietly in his corner, waiting patiently for the guards to chain him up. He never said a word that day, nor the day after. He merely tolerated every whim of our master, accepting his defeat.

"After that incident, their lives became a torment. The guards had always been afraid of Daurir, but now that they knew he wouldn't fight them back, they took all their loathing out on him. Every guard hurt Daurir and his companion in every possible way, spitting and cursing their race at the command of their chief, a man by the name of Lôkhî and of abhorring ways.

"Three months later, ill news came to our city: a treaty was signed between the Men of the West and the Men of the East, in which all forms of slavery were forbidden. Our master didn't intend to comply to the new laws, of course, thus, in the end, he kept us all under his service with threats and organised his fights illegally and utmost secrecy. Still, he wasn't able to make the money he used to, and that filled him with resentment to everyone's misfortune. For in his foul mood, he punished everyone most severely even for the smallest of mistakes.

"This led to the very day that changed Daurir's life forever. Our master's son had been involved in some kind of illegal business and the authorities had been looking for him. That meant our master had to protect his son and also to make certain his own illegal business wouldn't be discovered. For that purpose, he sent his son to some caves outside the city and then put the household in the underground cells where Daurir and Torion already were. That way, their shouts wouldn't be heard if the law-enforcers arrived to search the house. As for me, I was to remain free and treat our guests, presenting myself as the son's wife.

"A couple of hours passed, yet there was no sign of the law-enforcers. Instead, Lôkhî arrived and informed the master there was trouble at Daurir's cell. The elf, he said, dared to oppose them again when they tried to silence Torion.

"I need not tell you, my lady, in what violent ways they tried to do that, causing Daurir's just wrath. Our master, however, simply huffed, his mind already troubled by other matters.

'"Make sure the elf stays silent too. Do not disturb me again,' he said and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. Had he been facing Lôkhî, like I did, he would have noticed a strange glint in the guard's eyes as he nodded a peculiar smile on his lips.

Yet it was of no use talking to the master about it, at this time anyway. The law-enforcers had arrived in that very moment and I was expected to be in my best behaviour.

"Some time passed, and the law-enforcers finally left empty-handed. Our master seemed able to breathe once again, relieved to see them gone. But, as we were opening the cells to let the rest of the household out, he noticed one of the youngest of the guards kneeling by the wall, pale as a sheet and the contents of his stomach spilled on the floor.

"What is the meaning of this?' the master demanded angrily.

His answer came in the form of shouting, mingled with malicious laughter. As though stung, our master quickly rushed over to Daurir's cell, for it was from there that the disturbing noises were heard.

"The moment the door opened and the master entered the room, everything grew quiet and I didn't dare go any further. Suddenly, the master's roar of wrath broke the silence, and I saw Lôkhî thrown out of the cell with words that I dare not repeat.

'"Pervert! Disgusting pervert! Is that what I ordered you to do? Get out of my sight and this house, you filth!'

"Lôkhî left, seeming pleased with himself even though he was sacked, while my master directed his curses to the rest of the guards. Was that what he was paying them for? That prizefighter had brought money with which he paid the miserable curs, making him more worthwhile than they ever would be. And he didn't intend to show them any mercy if Daurir died because of them.

"After that, I couldn't take it anymore. I hurried inside to see what had happened to Daurir. I screamed when my eyes locked on the floor, covered with his blood. But somebody swiftly - and probably in shame about what happened - placed a cloak onto Daurir's form before I could get a good look at it.

'"Take her out of here; this is not a sight for her to see!' the master ordered his men upon seeing me. 'And make yourselves useful and fetch me a healer now!'

"Two of the guards quickly rushed outside and another guided me out. I fought hard against him, but his grip was too tight. All I could do was turn to Torion, hoping he would tell me what had happened. However, he simply shouted on the top of his lungs, struggling against his chains.

'Fiends! Monsters! The only wrong he did was that he tried to protect me! A curse on you! A curse on you all!'

"And that was all I managed to see or hear. The healer arrived and was hurriedly shown to Daurir's cell. However, I could get no news from him except that Daurir's life hanged on the balance. He remained by Daurir's side for many days, receiving a handsome fee from the master, since he wasn't willing to lose this prizefighter.

"Two weeks had already passed before it seemed Daurir was out of danger and needed rest to recover fully. I returned to my task of handing the two prisoners their share of food and water, but Torion, now freed within the cell so he could watch over Daurir, kept his friend hidden from me in the shadows, allowing him to sleep and heal.

"Finally, after several more days went by, Daurir opened his eyes and, thanks to his Elven-blood, he was healed – yet only in body. For, in truth, Daurir became a mere ghost of himself. The fire of life in his eyes had utterly died out and his face betrayed nothing but cold apathy, as if his soul had departed and left its shell behind. And as Torion and I found out later, his soul wasn't the only thing that had left Daurir, because no word came out of his lips ever again.

"Yet, when Daurir was set to fight again, everyone in the arena witnessed a different person, one whose eyes seemed ablaze with fury and hatred whenever someone was set against him; one who killed his adversaries in the most savage of ways and kept striking them even after he had slain them; one who still thrashed wildly against the chains the guards used to drag him away from the arena to the point of bleeding himself. They would see Daurir, the murderer. And the irony was that that excited the audience even more, making me wonder who was truly the animal even now.

"More than a year passed, during which Daurir hardly acknowledged anyone or anything. Whenever he was in the cell, he resembled a dead man, lying on the floor and looking at nothing. He didn't notice my attempts to make him swallow some food or drink, nor indeed Torion's sorrow-filled words addressed to him, no matter how much we tried. Daurir became alive only whenever he was dragged out to the arena and found the opportunity to unleash his rage.

"That, however, was about to change. Master and son finally killed each other over matters of money and, with no one to rule the house anymore, the slaves were finally free. I grabbed the keys and, as there were no more guards to stop me, I opened the cell where Torion and Daurir resided.

"Their reaction to seeing the sun as free people once more was so different – like day and night. Torion smiled warmly, smelling the fresh air that had ben deprived from him for so long. Daurir's face, on the other hand, betrayed no emotion. He merely looked at Torion and me briefly, as though pondering on his options, and then, after making up his mind, he went to the weaponry where he picked a knife for himself. He had become his own master again and he was prepared to defend that right.

"When he came out, he beckoned Torion and me to follow him. I didn't expect that sort of kindness, truth be told. I suppose Daurir sensed I had no home to go back to and he took up the responsibility of looking after me as well. Indeed, as I looked into his eyes, I believe I saw in them a flicker of compassion - for the first time in a long time.

She lowered her gaze. "With that, all three of us walked to the direction of the setting sun. And though I wish I could say that was the end of our troubles, that would only be a lie. For the journey towards the realms of the Western Peoples was long and arduous. We trudged on through rocky plains, our feet often bleeding and our bodies aching with weariness. At nights and when the elements of nature were too much for Torion or me, we huddled close to keep ourselves warm. And Daurir did everything within his power to provide us with food and water, even if there were days that we had to go without either.

"I am not sure how many days had passed by the time we finally reached the ruined gates of the land of Zigûrun, the Wizard**. After that, it was a matter of heading south and reach the ruins of an ancient city. Only then were we finally certain that we had passed the borders and we were among the Free Peoples of Middle-earth." The young girl smiled weakly. "The beauty of our surroundings had been breathtaking. The bright green colours and the gentle swaying of the trees was quite the sight, soothing our wounded souls.

"Yet the peace didn't last. It was in those ruins that Torion passed away, overcome by exhaustion and hardship. He simply asked to rest his body against an old stone, and his farewell flowed out with his last breath."

Arwen sighed as well, feeling for Daurir. It seemed unfair that the Elf had given up so much to safeguard his nephew, only to lose him at the end of their journey back home.

"I will never forget Daurir's face as he watched Torion die," Aglarâd continued. "It was like he was torn between acceptance of his companion's death and disbelief. He kept looking at me, seeing me unable to control my own grief; while biting his lip to stop any sob from rushing out of his lips and shaking Torion gently, as if prodding him to wake up."

"The sun had set once more when Daurir got back on his feet, his eyes a dead gaze, signalling that we should make arrangements for Torion's burial. It took several hours but, by the time the moon had risen, Torion was in the earth's embrace and a rock on it, marking it. I wrote on it, and then Daurir engraved his own words as well, in a language I'm not familiar with.

"Only then did Daurir allow the tears to fall down his cheeks. His shoulders didn't spasm in grief nor his features distort in sorrow. He simply remained kneeling by Torion's grave, his tears flowing and spilling on the ground endlessly – mourning in the same way he had taken every blow of fate for the last two years.

"That image of Daurir haunted me, even as sleep finally claimed me. And, upon waking up, Daurir was nowhere to be seen. When I found him, he was kneeling by a riverbank, the knife still in his hands and his black strands about him, cut. Several of the locks had even fallen into the water and got carried away by the current. Yet Daurir's look was a sign enough that he didn't care anymore."

Arwen felt like her heart had missed a beat as she realised what was the meaning of her vision. Though she also had to admit that that was quite the un-elven way to express his pain at his loss, she reasoned that the elf was in so much grief that he had acted on impulse. She bowed her head, hiding the tears that had welled up in her eyes.

Aglarâd didn't notice, overwhelmed by the grief of her memories. And though her voice kept faltering now, she bravely carried on with her narrative.

"From that day on, Daurir became more withdrawn to himself. He never stopped looking after me, true; but, at nights, his gaze drifted elsewhere, losing himself for hours on end in thought.

"This continued on, until we came across this house. Daurir had been watching the old couple that still lives here for many days and he decided that I would be able to have a decent life here. I wouldn't have it at first, at least not without Daurir living in the house too. I didn't wish to do what it felt like abandoning him, leaving him with only his memories…"

Arwen lifted the girl's head and, looking in her eyes carefully, she realised there was another reason that the Easterling didn't wish to leave Daurir.

"You also came to love him."

Aglarâd nodded solemnly. "And, I think, he came to care deeply for me too. But, when I confessed my affection to him, he claimed that that kind of love came out of our understanding each other's pain. In truth, neither of us needed someone who understood our pain, but someone who could heal us from it."

"Wise words," Arwen admitted.

"And with the power to cut through my heart more deeply than his knife ever would," Aglarâd completed bitterly. "In the end, though, I accepted his suggestion, albeut with a heavy heart. Yes, I found my place in this world and I console myself with that thought. But Daurir still wanders in the woods, living in the shadows and only coming here on occasion to see how I'm faring. And, upon each visit, my heart bleeds to see his face paler, more sunken; while his body becomes thinner and lacking more strength with each passing day.

"In the end, even those visits became scarce. It had been a month before he finally appeared through that door again, carrying you in his arms. And when he comes to take you to your own people, it will be the last time I will ever see him."

"What are you saying?" Arwen asked, a horrifying suspicion creeping in her mind.

"What he told me only too clearly last night," the girl answered. "Once he returns you to your home and no other responsibility drags on his existence, he will allow himself to wither away, succumbing to his sorrow."

TBC…

**Footnotes**:

***Before anyone says: "Frank Herbert much?", Tolkien also referred to wereworms in a great desert, in The Hobbit no less. If Herbert got that idea from there for his Dune novels though – that I don't know. ;)**

**** Aglarâd means Sauron, as he was called in Adunaic.**


	6. The Kindness Of A Queen

_A/N: And we get to know who the mystery Elf is at last – although some of you have already suspected it. ;)_

* * *

><p>"No!" Arwen declared, horrified at what she heard. "He cannot give up on life in such a way! Not now that he is free!"<p>

"I know, my lady. Oh, I know it only too well," Aglarâd sighed. "Yet he isn't willing to listen."

"It is his grief that makes him despair, that is understandable," Arwen insisted. "If he tastes joy again, perhaps he will also reclaim his wish to live again."

"How can that be done, lady? He has no kin to return to; he wants nothing more to do with Men, the race that treated him so cruelly; and the last of his friends passed away in spite of all his efforts to keep him alive. In what can he hope anymore?"

Arwen paced the room, trying to find a solution. In the end, as her mind was made up, she stood by the window and looked outside.

"I will take him with me."

Aglarâd's hopes crushed as swiftly as they had flared. "He won't have it, my lady. I have already suggested it to him."

"But this time we will be cunning," Arwen said, sitting down once more.  
>"What do you mean?" she asked, but realisation swiftly caught up with her. "You plan on tricking him!"<p>

"The Valar know how much I despise deception, but I fear this is the only way we can help him," the queen said.

"… So what is in your mind?" the girl asked softly.

"Had you told me my exact whereabouts at present, I would have easily found my way home without much error. But," and at that Arwen's voice lowered, "this is something that only you and I know."

The girl understood. "You will talk him into guiding you through the forest."

"Yes. And while he guides me I will try to gain his trust. We are both of the Elven-kindred, so it should not be too difficult."

"But what if he sees through the deceit?"

"Oh, I am certain he will eventually," Arwen said. "I still hope that, in the meantime, he also understand that I only mean well. And, perhaps, if he puts his mind to it, he will learn to trust my husband, too."

"And if he doesn't? He suffered too much to allow himself to get hurt again."

"Then I will have to make sure he does; because if he sees my husband, it will be the only thing that will keep him from giving up on his life."

Aglarâd stared at the elven-woman, confused. "Why?"

Arwen sighed inwardly. She had never believed there would be a time when she would hesitate to speak about Aragorn; yet there it was.

"My husband is of the race of Men," she finally said. "But he is noble and kind! He is the king of this realm!" she quickly added, seeing Aglarâd about to protest.

"It will hardly make a difference to Daurir, my lady! He will regard it as another betrayal!"

"I am aware of the risk. Even so, this is the only chance Daurir will have to regain his faith," Arwen argued. "Both my husband and I are healers and we can help him, if he will permit it."

"Or it might quicken his death! He might regard himself a prisoner again and forsake this world."

"That will only mean he was beyond anyone's aid anymore, as harsh as it may sound."  
>Aglarâd didn't reply; she merely bowed her head in defeat. Arwen walked up to her and cupped her cheek, prodding the young girl to look up at her.<p>

"Believe me, young one; if there were any other option, I would have chosen that one without hesitation. Even if there is one, I fear I cannot see it. Can you?"

The Easterling shook her head sadly.

"Then surely you understand we should at least try out my plan. If he is so determined to go to the Halls of Mandos, a few days more should not make a difference to him. But he should not be deprived of the chance to change his mind. No one should have such a fate and certainly not him. You know this. That is why you implored him to reconsider his decision, is it not so?"

The girl lowered her gaze for a brief moment, considering the queen's words, and then nodded her agreement. "I will help you in any way I can. I will not have his death in my conscience."

"Your help is welcome and needed," Arwen answered with a smile. "Do you know when he is to return?"

The young girl's eyes widened at the question as if she remembered something important, and she looked out the window.

"What?" Arwen asked, not really understanding that reaction.

"He was to come tonight, before the moon was high up at the sky."

Arwen looked outside the window too, only to see that Ithil was almost at the end of his journey.

"Has he ever been late before?" she asked Aglarâd worriedly.

"No," answered the girl, still looking out nervously.

* * *

><p>The moon disappeared behind the mountains and the stars shone brightly in its stead. Even that small light that Elbereth's creations shed was soon to disappear, though; dawn was arriving swiftly. The horizon was already painted with brighter shades of blue, soon to be replaced by grey.<p>

Aragorn became more alert as he rested against the trunk of a tree, smelling the morning dew that reached his nostrils in surprise. He hadn't realised how long he had remained like this, lost in thought.

"Nauthach oh Arwen?"* a familiar voice said in that moment, cutting into Aragorn's thoughts.

The man faced Legolas in mild surprise. The elf was sitting on a rock only a little further away from him. "How long have you been here?" he asked.

"Long enough," Legolas answered, smiling weakly.

"And Gimli?"

Legolas raised his hand, signalling Aragorn to prick up his ears. Intrigued, Aragorn did just that, and he heard the distant snore.

"For all the Dwarves' energy, this search proved draining," Legolas explained. "Which brings us to what I meant to say. You should rest, too. Why do you let doubt haunt you?"

"Because for all my hopes for a sign of Arwen, there is only silence," Aragorn replied with a heavy sigh.

Legolas stood up and clasped his friend's shoulder in a sign of support. "Never stop hoping. You were not named Estel in your days of youth for nothing.

"Yet we searched in every part of the forest. We should have found her by now, or at least that mystery Elf who seems to know of her fate. What happens if Arwen is truly…?"  
>But Legolas stopped Aragorn before he would utter his fear. "What does your heart tell you?" he asked.<p>

Aragorn remained silent for a few moments, pondering the question. "That she is alive."

"Then she is alive and we will find her," Legolas said reassuringly. "And, perhaps, she might be able to tell us about the other Elf as well."

"Perhaps," Aragorn replied, forcing a smile on his lips before looking up at the sky. "Arien has arisen. We should start the search again."

Legolas nodded his agreement. "I will wake up Gimli." And with that parting word, he left the man still looking up at the sky, his gaze fixed on the last flickering stars.

_I will find you, Arwen_, he thought. _Even if it means looking for you until my dying day._

* * *

><p>Arwen watched the bright sun rising in the horizon. She seemed calm, unlike Aglarâd who paced up and down the room agitatedly as there had been no sign of Daurir as of yet.<p>

"Something happened to him," Aglarâd finally declared.

"I begin to fear it, too," Arwen replied thoughtfully and she faced the Easterling. "Is there a place where Daurir takes refuge when in hiding?"

Aglarâd stopped in her tracks and thought hard for many moments. "There is a small cave, about an hour's walk from here. But I'm not certain if he is seeking refuge there anymore. When I was still with him, we often changed hideouts so as not to be discovered."

Arwen nodded in understanding and remained silent, thinking hard. "I saw a dog here in the morning. Do you have anything that belonged to Daurir so the dog can smell his trail?"

Aglarâd brightened at once. "I have a strand of Daurir's hair!" Her eagerness wore off, however. "Îbal is a guard dog though, not a hound."

"That will not be a problem, have faith in me," Arwen assured the girl with a small smile.

Aglarâd answered with a smile of her own and rushed to go outside and bring the dog. Yet the moment she opened the door, she froze and covered her mouth with her hand so as not to cry out in surprise.

Arwen stood up to see what was amiss, though a suspicion had already formed in her mind. And, indeed, Daurir was standing at the threshold, now placing a finger over his mouth in a gesture of silence.

Nodding a bit, Aglarâd backed away from the door, still staring at Daurir in wonder as the cloaked Elf walked slowly into the kitchen. As Daurir stepped into the light and lifted his hood so he could look at Arwen, Arwen clearly saw what had shocked Aglarâd in the first place. Daurir's face carried a ghostly hue that made him seem like a spirit of the dead, while his dark eyes had a tired, defeated expression that held Arwen under their gaze for many moments.

But Arwen didn't feel uncomfortable. She returned the look, hoping that Daurir's eyes would allow her even a glimpse in his soul.

"He says they are looking for you," Aglarâd said then.

"What?" Arwen asked, confused.

"He just told you that there are many men in the woods. They are looking for you," Aglarâd repeated, translating Daurir's signals into words. "He also asks if you know them."

Arwen's heart filled with hope. "What did they look like?"

Daurir signalled again.

"Men with armour," Aglarâd translated. "They had the image of a tree and seven stars on their chest-plates. An Elf and a Dwarf accompany them."

Arwen's heart leapt with joy at such news. "Yes, I know them! They are with my husband, who must be looking for me! Please, take me to them!"

Daurir remained still and rubbed his forehead, as if lost in thought. Arwen understood that Daurir didn't wish for that sort of development. After all, taking her personally to other Elves was one thing. But to Men?

Daurir turned to Aglarâd. As she realized what he would ask of her, Arwen discreetly shook her head, hoping that the girl would notice her.

Fortunately, Aglarâd did. "I'm afraid I cannot help you, Daurir," she replied quickly. "I don't know where to look for the soldiers and, besides, I might be missed."

Daurir's jaw clenched, for he clearly didn't expect that answer. He made a motion to fold his arms, but he stopped midway, and started pacing the room instead. Aglarâd and Arwen exchanged glances as they observed Daurir, but both of them sharing the same thought. Daurir was holding his left shoulder too stiffly, and his clothes were in part covered in brownish stains – dried blood. But Arwen could see even more than that. Her experience as a healer enabled her to see that Daurir's shining eyes and the thin film of sweat that had by now settled on his brow wasn't a good sign. Still, she couldn't try to convince him to tend to his wound. Not before some trust was developed between them.

If Daurir was aware of the two women staring at him as he walked up and down the room in thought, he never showed it. After heaving a sigh, he marched to the door and opened it. Just when Arwen thought that Daurir would walk out and leave, he faced her and beckoned her to come with him. Such was Arwen's surprise that she didn't react at first, and Daurir had to beckon her again. He intended to be done with that errand as soon as possible.

The two elves finally exited, whereas Aglarâd stood a little further away, wringing her hands nervously. But, as she made up her mind, she called out to Daurir and rushed after him.

Daurir turned around, his eyes reflecting his question, and she stood in front ofhim, her small, slender form seeming even smaller compared to the cloaked Elf's tall and broad body frame.

"I simply wanted to say goodbye," she said softly, not daring to look Daurir in the eyes.

Daurir regarded her for many long moments, then prodded Aglarâd with the gentlest of touches to look up at him. His bloodshot gaze locked on the girl's sad one, and he placed a chaste kiss on her lips in a sign of farewell and comfort.

"I will try to be happy for both of us," Aglarâd said, retreating in slow steps until, not taking it anymore, she fled back into the house. She didn't want him to see the tears that flowed down her cheeks.

Daurir watched her go, looking as if about to go after her. In the end, though, all that he did was shake his head, then walk away to lead Arwen out of the forest.

* * *

><p>The Elves walked on, Daurir in the lead, Arwen a little further behind, her eyes on him and watching his every move. She was concerned, for she saw that her guide's condition was getting worse; she could even hear his breathing, shallow and weak. Worse, his gait faltered, the natural grace of the Elves being replaced by the movements of a seemingly drunken man. But it was when Daurir started leaning against every tree they passed by for support and another crimson stain became visible on his clothes that Arwen decided to speak.<p>

"Ú-'erich delio haru lín anuir. Ú-si sereg lín edsiria ad,"** she said.  
>Daurir paused and looked at Arwen, his expression unclear, and then resumed his walking again.<p>

Arwen didn't intend to let him off so easily, however. She had seen the fine drops of sweat on his face and she knew what that meant.

"Your fever is getting worse, too. Perhaps you realise it, but your wound has probably been infected," she tried again, always talking in the Elven-tongue.

Daurir didn't stop walking this time. He simply shrugged off the comment with indifference.  
>"I am a healer. I can help you if you let me. Will you show me where you are injured?"<br>That earned Arwen a pointed glare.

"You cannot carry on like this," she insisted.

Daurir smirked grimly and stretched his arms in an evident statement of 'Observe me' before turning his back on her again.

"Why do you treat yourself like this?" Arwen asked, stopping in her tracks. "What did your captors do to you?"

Daurir halted as though stung and looked over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow.

"Aglarâd told me of your life. You have suffered too much to let yourself be tormented like this."

In a few strides, Daurir covered the distance between him and Arwen, their faces coming so close that their noses almost touched and strands of Arwen's hair swayed at Daurir's breathing. As his nostrils flared, he raised a finger of warning.

_Not another word from you._

With that, he turned on his heel and resumed walking.

Arwen didn't intend to be denied, though. Determination fueling her, she Daurir again.  
>"I understand your exasperation for what they did to you."<p>

Daurir snorted loudly.

_You understand nothing._

"Then help me understand!" Arwen demanded.

Daurir faced Arwen in a hearbeat, his face red with rage.

_How?_ he mouthed in the Elven-tongue, pointing at his neck. _How? _he asked again and, unable to take out his anger in any other way, he kicked a nearby stone and sent it flying, making Arwen flinch.

Still, it wasn't enough. Trembling, Daurir dug his nails in the bark of a tree in an attempt to brace himself before doing anything worse.

Arwen remained frozen, the violence of the outburst shocking her. As Daurir didn't try anything else, though, she ventured addressing him again.

"You are right, perhaps I cannot understand. But I still wish to help you."

Daurir looked up, his breathing coming out harshly, his hard, feverish gaze piercing her. But then, to Arwen's horror, he opened his mouth in a silent scream and he fell on his knees, his hand clutching his chest.

Arwen rushed to his side to see what the matter was. She found herself only inches away from Daurir's knife, now almost miraculously in his hand. Nevertheless, she stopped only momentarily before she leaned towards him once more. She did not care that drops of blood trickled down her neck as the blade broke her skin. Such was Daurir's surprise that he withdrew the knife before he would harm her further; he didn't even have time to react when she placed one hand on his face and the other on his shoulder, feeling the heat that radiated from the young face and his injured shoulder.

To her great sadness, her suspicions were true. Daurir was suffering, and badly at that. But what truly concerned Arwen was how the other Elf clutched his chest, for it showed her it wasn't his shoulder that ached the most at present. It was his heart.

She locked her gaze on Daurir's eyes, which reflected his apprehension and confusion, and caught herself staring at him in wonder. For, in that moment, she discovered that behind the paleness and lines of sorrow, Daurir – or whatever the Elf's name truly was – was quite young. In fact, Arwen could now tell with ease that he was even younger than her or her brothers - so much younger that, though he was clearly an adult, he seemed only a child in her eyes.

"Merciful Elbereth!" she breathed out, before she could help herself. "How old are you?"  
>Daurir didn't bother to answer. He simply pulled himself away and curled into a ball, averting his eyes.<p>

Arwen looked at the pitiable sight of an Elf, tears welling up her eyes. If Daurir was so young and innocent when he was taken captive, she didn't dare think how young Torion, his nephew, must have been. The loss Daurir suffered seemed far more terrible now and she felt for him with all of her heart.

She reached out again and rested her hand on Daurir's shoulder, but he only bowed his head and hid his face in his hands. Arwen closed his eyes, concentrating hard to offer part of her strength to the injured Elf. She felt him stirring, but she didn't let go. Only when Daurir grabbed her arm and forced the contact to break did she open her eyes to look at him in confusion.

Yet Daurir was far from well. Arwen felt his body losing all its tension and he went limp against the tree. Had it not been for her grabbing him at the last moment, he would have certainly crashed to the ground.

"Now will you listen to reason?" she said. "To have pride against a foe is admirable; but to let your pride stop you from accepting help offered is foolish! I am not your enemy and you are aware of it, otherwise you would not be here, helping me." She gently prodded Daurir to face her and her tone softened. "Look into my eyes and decide for yourself whether you should place faith in me or not."

Daurir he held her under his gaze for many moments, then finally nodded. He reached for her hand and squeezed it gently.

Arwen rewarded Daurir with a small smile and then helped him get more comfortable so as to take a peek underneath his shirt. To her relief, the injury wasn't bleeding as bad as she had believed at first; nevertheless she knew it had to be tended.

"We passed by some healing herbs not too long ago. I promise I will return shortly."  
>Daurir nodded in understanding, but, before letting Arwen leave, he handed her his knife.<br>"You are injured, you need it more than I do," Arwen said, though she was surprised at the gesture.

A ghost of a smile appeared on Daurir's lips and he urged Arwen again to take his knife. He pointed at himself and picked up a couple of branches that were on the ground, a motion that Arwen didn't understand at first. In the next moment, though, realisation dawned on her.

"Try not to make any sudden movements as you look for more firewood," she instructed. "The only reason I permit it is I do not wish to waste precious time in preparing the herbs. There is still danger of the infection spreading further in the meantime. Do you understand?"

Daurir nodded, a sign that he understood; so Arwen hurried off, intending to be as quick as possible.

* * *

><p>He watched the Elven-woman go, then resumed his task, being careful not to discomfort his shoulder. Yet, as he still gathered firewood, he caught himself thinking about the lady, for she puzzled him greatly. Why was she so determined to help him? Only because Aglarâd had told her his story? Aglarâd might have had quite the narratie skills, but some things couldn't be described. No one could explain how he could still feel the cold steel of the collar and the braces that held him in place; his back burning whenever he recalled the crack of the whip; or his ears ringing with the guards' mocks and jeers; his boiling blood rushing through his veins whenever he was sent out of his cell for the kill.<p>

He curled his upper lip in distaste as he recalled the woman demanding to make her understand; still, he regretted losing his temper like that. It was not the lady's fault that he couldn't speak…

Yet the question remained: Why did she wish to understand? Why did she act as though it mattered to her what he had been through? Out of pity? He looked at himself and raised an eyebrow. She didn't want to be indebted to someone with such a rascally look and she tried to clear her conscience by offering her help? He snorted. If she really wanted to help, she could leave him be in his misery until Mandos claimed him.  
>He sighed. It at that very thought that the pain, so familiar by now, pierced through his heart. He had grown accustomed to it, ever since it started three, maybe four months ago – it had become an almost impossible task to keep track of time anymore. This time, however, he was taken by surprise to feel that the pain was much greater this time, almost numbing him completely.<p>

Now that brought up the next question: Why did she come to his aid when he collapsed? What did she see in his eyes to make her ask such a strange question about his age? He had quickly averted his eyes in fear she could read his mind, yet he couldn't help but feel intrigued as well, for she had not been the first Elf to wonder about his age.

And to think that he was considered old by the Dwarves… Lóin would have certainly found it amusing.

Ceranos's*** heart wrenched when he recalled his foster nephew. He had made an oath to himself to protect the members of the family that had raised him, but all his efforts had come to naught. They were dead and he was alone. Perhaps if he had done things differently it wouldn't have to be so…

He shook his head. Did it really matter now? The past can never be undone.

But why did he have to live? He should have died as well, yet he was alive! What purpose served this injustice?

Then why not go in search of the Halls of Mandos now? It can be so easy for an Elf to let his grief kill him, echoed a small voice within his mind.

He knew the answer, of course. He was afraid to die and see that he would have to linger in the halls of the Elves; to be separated anyway from the ones he had called comrades.  
>On the other hand, living on seemed such a heavy burden now…<p>

His mind drifted on the woman's touch on his shoulder. Ceranos couldn't understand what kind of sorcery she used on him, but it was staggering to feel such warmth surging through him. At first he tried to pull himself away, startled, only to stop himself midway as he felt the frost of despair melting away. It was strange, but for the first time in a long time he had feelings of… hope.

Then feelings of shame overcame him and made him break the contact. He had no right to be happy when people he cared for were dead so unfairly.

Yet the woman still wished to offer her help. So, in the end, he was forced to yield and there he was, building a fire.

_Not that it will help matters_, he thought wryly.

The noise of a twig breaking snapped him out of his thoughts. His hair stood on end when he sensed somebody approaching him, and his fingers tightened their hold on the branch he was holding, his fever and wound forgotten for the present.

"Henio, aníron, ú-thelin ûthaes," he heard a voice say calmly. "Leithio i golf. "****  
>Ceranos looked around and caught sight of the man approaching him. He recognised him instantly; he had spied on him and his companions on the previous day. And he even held the sword Ceranos had thrown at them. He allowed himself an inward smirk. It was ironic that everyone was speaking at him in the Elven-tongue just because he happened to be Elf. Then again, he couldn't expect them to think that he would be more acquainted with the Dwarven speech…<p>

The Man came closer, holding up the sword. "This sword belongs to somebody I care for very much," he said, still in the Elven-tongue. "You found it somewhere, that much I understand. But what I need to know is where you found it."

Ceranos never found the opportunity to give an answer. A cry of joy and surprise made both Man and Elf turn around and, in the next moment, Arwen flung herself in Aragorn's arms.

_TBC…_

**Footnotes**:

_*Nauthach oh Arwen?: Are you thinking of Arwen? (Sindarin)_

_**Ú-'erich delio haru lín anuir. Ú-si sereg lín edsiria ad.: You cannot hide your injury forever. Not now that it's bleeding again. (Sindarin)_

_***Ceranos: Original character by yours truly. An Elf raised from childhood by Dwarves; met and befriended Aragorn before the War of the Ring. If anyone's interested in more details though, I'm afraid you'll have to read Awakened Memories._

_****Henio, aníron, ú-thelin ûthaes. Leithio i golf. : Please, understand. I don't mean any harm. Put the branch down. (Sindarin)_


	7. Reunited

Aragorn held Arwen in his arms, scarcely believing his eyes. When he had decided to separate from Legolas and Gimli and search this area on his own, he hadn't thought he would come across the phantom elf they had been looking for; yet find him he did, the blood-stains where Legolas had hit him all but clear on his torn clothes. And, before he could wonder properly at the strange sight the short-haired Elf was, he had found Arwen too, alive and well. Aragorn couldn't thank the Valar enough for answering his prayers.

"How came this to be?" he asked at last, his voice soft but reflecting his relief. "When Iorlas told me that you were nowhere to be found…"

"I was hurt," Arwen replied, still embracing her husband. "But I was looked after and nursed to health thanks to Daurir."

Aragorn smiled and kissed her tenderly on the lips but, the moment he looked up, he frowned, his eyes locked over Arwen's shoulder. Unsure what to make of things, Arwen turned around and saw that Daurir was glaring at both of them, his body completely rigid. Worse, he currently stepped away from them, as if ready to run away.

"No, Daurir! Let me explain!" Arwen cried, hurrying up to him. "He is my husband; there is nothing to fear!"

Daurir simply grabbed her arm and snatched his knife from her belt in the blink of an eye. But Aragorn misunderstood the motion. Fearing for Arwen's safety, he unsheathed his sword and placed himself between her and Daurir.

That proved a mistake, for Daurir misinterpreted Aragorn's intention and believed the man was attacking him. Before Aragorn could react, the elf swung his leg and threw him off balance. Aragorn landed with a heavy thud, but he was back on his feet in an instant, swinging Andúril against the Elf. Daurir blocked the attack with his knife, and then aimed the man's head with the branch he was still holding. Aragorn stopped the branch on time with his free hand, but he didn't have time to avoid Daurir's kick on his stomach.

"Stop it, both of you!" Arwen cried.

Neither Daurir nor Aragorn heeded her, though. The Elf was quickly sinking into battle-frenzy and it took all of the king's strength to fight back each relentless attack. All Arwen could do was watch on, horrified as she witnessed how Daurir had survived in the arena for so long.

But no, Aragorn needed her help. Snapping out of her numbing shock, she reached for her sword, which was dropped a little further away. She would put an end to this madness, one way or another.

Meanwhile, Aragorn still fended off each attack, dismayed that his opponent was a more difficult match than he had expected. As he had been raised among Elves, Aragorn had studied the Elven way of combat and he had become a master of it himself. But this elf was fighting unlike any other Firstborn he had encountered in his life. There was cunning in Daurir's movements, accompanied with brutal force and speed. It was only Aragorn's quick reaction that had saved him when Daurir even feigned a couple of attacks to his right side, only to attack on his left. And the man wasn't certain he could fight back much longer. Injured or not, an Elf was a fierce and formidable opponent.

An arrow flew between the adversaries in that very moment, startling them both. Aragorn staggered back, and then felt a firm hand holding him in place.

"That will do," Gimli said, forcing Aragorn away.

The man looked first at Gimli and then at Legolas, who had stepped forward and aimed another arrow in Daurir's direction. There was no need for such precaution, however, as Arwen had already parried Daurir's next attack and pushed him against a tree. The short-haired elf's face contorted in pain at the impact and he fell on his knees again, panting softly.

"I told you to stop," said Arwen, regarding him hard.

Daurir didn't say anything, nor did he try to fight back again. Whatever strength he had had been drained.

Deciding that Daurir was no longer a threat, Aragorn turned to Legolas and Gimli once more. "How did you get here? We had agreed all three of us should separate," he said.

"We figured we would be of more assistance if we followed you," Gimli replied with a broad grin.

That actually made the Man frown. "Follow me? But-?"

"My friend, only you agreed to that arrangement," Legolas said, his eyes shining mirthfully. "Considering that neither Gimli nor I are soldiers under your service, we have the right to decide whether we should comply with your decisions or not."

Aragorn didn't speak for several moments, the words slowly sinking in, and then shook his head.

"I declare: you, Legolas Thranduilion, have a most annoying habit of playing with words to make your point!" he said, his half-smile revealing his tease, and e placed his hands on his friends' shoulders gratefully. "Thank you both. But now we have a more important business to attend to." And with that, he faced Daurir, his face stern.

Yet all feelings of anger he had ebbed at once when he saw Daurir flat on the ground, frighteningly white and his eyes closed.

"Help me, his bleeding has gone to the worse!" Arwen said frantically, pressing a piece of blood-soaked cloth against his shoulder. She pointed in the direction of the abandoned firewood. "The herbs are over there!"

His healer's side taking over, Aragorn instantly grabbed the medicinal plants and knelt beside Arwen to offer his help.

"Whatever should we help him for?" Gimli said indignantly. "He could have killed Aragorn!"

Legolas rested his hand on Gimli's shoulder. "He is also hurt, and it is not our place to judge those that need our help. Remember that, Gimli."

"And this one needs every help possible. I only hope it will not come to naught," Aragorn seconded. "Legolas, Gimli, make a stretcher. We will have to take him back to our camp."

Both Elf and Dwarf nodded their acknowledgement and they hurried off, seeing to on their errand. As soon as they were out of sight, Aragorn leaned close to Arwen.

"You will have to explain matters to me once we are safe to our camp."

"I know," Arwen answered. "And I will, I promise."

* * *

><p>Peace surrounded the camp was peaceful as the Gondorian soldiers stood guard in the night. Though they were all relieved to see their Queen alive again, they couldn't help but feel curious about the injured Elf. In fact, some of the soldiers that were close enough kept stealing glances of the strange find their lord had brought in the stretcher, curiosity overwhelming them.<p>

Aragorn didn't pay attention to that, though. He pushed back some locks of hair away from Daurir's brow and felt the unconscious elf's forehead again. Allowing himself a small smile of relief, he covered Daurir with a blanket and joined the rest of the company, who were sitting by a small fire.

"Well, how is he?" asked Gimli, more out of courtesy than actual concern.

"His fever has dropped and the wound has stopped bleeding. He is a fighter."

"Except that he has good reasons not to fight," Arwen said softly. "I should never have allowed this to happen."

"You cannot blame yourself for what has happened," Aragorn assured her.

"I did not give him enough reasons to trust me. I should have told him I was married to you, a Man, sooner."

"After the story that you told us, Undómiel, I doubt he would have reacted differently no matter when you would decide to confide in him. At least he didn't have time to harm you," said Legolas.

"No, he would not have harmed me," Arwen said, shaking her head. "Even though he was forced to live like an animal, he still answers to an infallible instinct, one that exists within all creatures: flee when there is a chance and fight only when cornered. Even a wounded fawn will kick… but only if there is no other option left."

"_He_ is no _fawn_," Gimli said sternly, pointing to the direction of the unconscious Elf. "And kick was not the only thing he tried to do."

"Yet can you claim you would not have done the same if you had been in his stead?" Arwen asked.

Gimli pondered on the question, then shook his head with a sigh, seeing her point.

Legolas looked in the direction of Daurir thoughtfully. "Who could he be if Daurir is not his real name?"

"I know not," Arwen said. "He is certainly not from Rivendell, I would have known of an Elf who is so young. Could he be from your homeland, Legolas?"

"His face tells me nothing," Legolas answered, looking back at Daurir. "But that means nothing. Many Elves live in the Woodland Realm and I do not know them all."

"Not to mention that he does not have any traits that could make him recognisable. Mahal knows how many Elves I have seen... and they all look alike! If I did not know any better, I would say he is one of your brothers, Lady Arwen!" Gimli said.

Arwen and Legolas couldn't help but laughed at that.

"Do Elves look so identical to a Dwarf's eyes then, Master Gimli?" the elven woman asked with a mild tease.

"When it comes to those elves I do not know well, yes," Gimli said, his beard hardly able to conceal his red with embarrassment face. "Although…"

"What?" both Elves asked, intrigued.

Gimli didn't answer at once, clearly hesitating to speak his mind. In the end, however, he decided to address the subject.

"I caught a glimpse of his eyes before and I was surprised to see they were almost black. This isn't usual, is it?"

"No, it is not," Legolas replied. "But not for the reasons you believe, my good Gimli. Daurir's eyes _became_ black."

Gimli frowned sceptically. "The elves' eyes actually change colour?"

"It is not as simple as that," Arwen replied. "The _faer_, or spirit, is a powerful thing, Master Gimli, especially when it comes to elves. When the spirit is happy and unburdened, the shell where it dwells hums with life, too. But when it is heavy with grief, then the body suffers also. A seemingly healthy person does no longer wish to feed, he lacks any vitality; he fades, until Mandos, in his mercy, calls him to his halls."

"But the eyes-"

"The eyes are the mirror of the soul," Legolas said. "If an elf lives long enough with his grief, then the blackness within his heart is reflected in his eyes. Still, Daurir is the first Elf I have personally seen who lived so long in sorrow to acquire such a trait."

"So what you are saying is that Daurir succumbs to his grief so slowly that his body takes more suffers," Gimli said.

Arwen nodded. "More than that, he still lingers on when other Elves would have answered the call of Mandos long before. I am not certain if that is through sheer willpower alone or something else holding him back."

"In either case, he's very ill," Legolas said.

"Ill?" Gimli echoed, not really understanding.

"Daurir is essentially trapped between two worlds. His body struggles to remain to the world of the living, yet his spirit struggles to flee to the world of the dead; it's tearing him apart."

"Just like my mother," Arwen said softly. "And the only thing that could save her was to leave for the Undying lands."

Gimli looked back at Daurir. The shorthaired Elf's face was still wan and his eyes closed, seeming like dead already.

"Unhappy creature. I judged him harshly," the dwarf concluded with a sigh. After all, anyone dying had no need of his contempt. "What is there to be done?"

Arwen stirred the embers with a small branch, clearly thinking of the situation. "He is not beyond aid. If he finds a new purpose in life, or his spirit regains even part of his former joy, then he will recover."

"The question now is: will he wish to be helped?" Legolas said.

"It is worth the try at least," Arwen said. "If we knew his name at least, it would be a promising start."

"Perhaps he will tell us when he wakes up," Gimli suggested. The elves' look, however, made him remember himself. "Fine, or write it!"

"If he still wants anything to do with us when he wakes up," Legolas noted. "When do you think he will the sleeping draught you gave him wear off, Aragorn?"

But Aragorn, though still among his companions, had hardly paid them heed. During their conversation, the man had locked his gaze on Daurir, looking hard at him. The shorthaired Elf's face was still quite pale and worn out, but the lines of care that marked it so deeply had smoothed away and now betrayed someone Aragorn was certain he should label as familiar.

"Aragorn?"

Aragorn's gaze drifted lower and locked on Daurir's shoulders. The man fleetingly noted within his mind that such body frame was unusually broad for an elf. His hair must have been certainly longer once, and his clothing must have been different too. Aragorn could now almost picture Daurir in another time and place, and all he had to do was name that ever-elusive image. He just had to rack his mind a bit more…

"Aragorn!"

As though startled from a dream, the man turned swiftly. "What is the matter, Gimli?"

"The matter is," the dwarf said irritably, "we had to call you three times before you finally snapped out of your thoughts!"

"My apologies," said Aragorn, trying to focus once more. "What did you mean to say?"

"When will the effect of the sleeping draught wear off," Legolas asked again patiently.

Aragorn rubbed his forehead as though trying to think.

"It is hard to tell," he finally said. "Considering the draught was potent and Daurir quite weak, I would say some time tomorrow. Most probably long after we have reached Minas Tirith."

"So all we can do for the present is wait," Gimli said.

"Yes." Aragorn looked at everyone, still pondering. "Perhaps we should all have some rest. Iorlas and his men will stand guard so nothing will catch us by surprise."

Everyone nodded their agreement and started rolling out their blankets. Though their trip back to the White City wouldn't be long, carrying Daurir would slow them down significantly.

But, unlike Legolas and Gimli, Arwen didn't lie down at once. As the thought formed in her mind, she reached out and held her husband's hands in hers.

"I noticed your look on Daurir. Do you know him?"

Aragorn hesitated to answer. He stared at Arwen and then at Daurir for many long moments, and then he replied, "No." The image his mind had been desperate in creating was gone in a flash.


	8. The Friendship Of A King

Aragorn walked into the Great Hall, followed by his companions and Arwen, and sat on the throne with a tired sigh. He turned to one of the attending servants who happened to be there and gave him instructions that he should not be disturbed for at least an hour.

"Are the rooms ready to receive our guests for the Anniversary?" Aragorn asked then.

"They've been ready since yesterday, Sire."

"Have one more prepared as well. We might have another attendant."

"Very good, Sire." And with a bow of his head, the servant went out.

"Will that extra room be Daurir's, by any chance?" Gimli asked.

"I intend it to be," answered Aragorn. "He cannot stay in the Houses of Healing forever."

"Meanwhile, we should still try and find out from which realm he is," Legolas said thoughtfully. "My father fought against the Easterlings of Rhûn. Perhaps if I send him a letter with the description of Daurir, he will be able to identify him as one of the soldiers that fought under his command."

"Do you think he will know?" asked Arwen.

"If not him, probably someone of the household or the march wardens will," answered Legolas."

"This could take time though," Aragorn pointed out.

"It is still the best option we have for now."

"Indeed," Arwen sighed. "In the meantime, I will write to my grandparents in Lothlórien. Daurir could be from Caras Galadhon, for all we know."

"And somebody should talk to Daurir himself as well. He is bound to wake up quite confused; somebody should help him understand where he is."

An uncomfortable silence reigned in the Hall after Aragorn's words.

"I cannot go," Arwen declared. "He will not only wake up confused, but also angry with me. I do not think he will wish to hear anything else from me after my actions."

"I cannot go either," Aragorn said. "Not after the clash we had."

Gimli and Legolas looked at each other briefly; then the Elf stepped forward.

"How about Gimli and I? He has nothing against us."

Both Arwen and Aragorn shook their head.

"You released your arrows at us, Legolas; he will remember that. I do not think he will care for Gimli's presence either," the Man said. After all, he knew of the animosity that existed between Elves and Dwarves and, even though there were instances of Aulë's creations being on friendly terms with the Firstborn through the course of history, now only Legolas and Gimli shared such a friendship. There was also Ceranos, but…

Aragorn sighed. Valar, why did he have to recall the dead now?

"Aragorn, are you well?" Arwen asked.

"Yes, do not trouble yourself," the king answered at once. "I am merely tired, that is all."

"Should I tell the servant not to disturb you at all today?" she said gently.

Aragorn never had the chance to answer, for at that moment another servant came in.

"The hour is not passed."

"Forgive the intrusion, Sire, but this could not wait," the servant said. "Lord Elrond and his sons have just passed the outer gates and they wish to greet you."

Everyone almost jumped at the news.

"Send them in!" Aragorn commanded, hardly containing his excitement. Lord Elrond's advice had always been most welcome, and now Aragorn felt like he needed it more than ever.

Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir came in, smiling broadly.

"Tut, tut, Estel! You change your name to Lord Elessar and you have us waiting outside like we are one of your subjects?" Elrohir asked, his eyes shining with the slight tease he uttered.

"Never! Not you, my brothers!" declared Aragorn, embracing the twins tightly.

"We missed you too, Estel," Elladan said affectionately, returning the embrace. Then the twins faced Arwen and, gladdened to see their sister again after almost two years, and embraced her as well. "Legolas, Gimli." They smiled to their friends and bowed cordially.

"Elladan, Elrohir," said Legolas, also bowing and having Gimli follow his example before whispering, "Elladan is the one on the left and Elrohir the one on the right."

"I knew that!" exclaimed Gimli in mock indignation, only to add in a small voice, "I think."

Meanwhile, Aragorn and Arwen greeted Elrond, who, to their surprise, regarded them quizzically.

"Though you are indeed glad to see me, I can clearly see that dark thoughts cloud your minds."

Aragorn averted his eyes shyly. Elrond always had the ability to see through him, no matter how hard he tried to play down his concerns. But, he couldn't hide the truth forever.

"Many things came to pass," he finally said, "And I wish your counsel."

"That I can always give," Elrond said with a kind smile. "Perhaps later, when we have some privacy."

Arwen understood. "I will show Elladan and Elrohir their rooms. Legolas and Gimli can come with me, too."

"Very well," Elrond said, and then beckoned Aragorn to walk up to the window with him so they could converse together. "What has happened?"

Aragorn sighed. "I should tell everything from the beginning, I suppose." And with that, he started telling his tale.

* * *

><p>"Strange looking, isn't he?"<p>

"And so thin, poor thing!"

"Did you see the ears?"

"Of course, silly! He's an Elf, remember?"

"Could he be related to Lady Arwen? There is some resemblance!"

"You also thought Prince Legolas was related to Lady Arwen! Nice-looking and pointy-eared doesn't equal relation, you know!"

"As if you lived among Elves to know better!"

"Hush, you two! He's stirring!"

Ceranos lolled his head sideways, trying to open his eyes, but he failed miserably. What was worse, he had a splitting headache and those women talking over his head certainly didn't help matters.

_Wait… Women?_

As if jolted, he opened his eyes to see three young women looking at him, all of them smiling.

Ceranos's jaw almost dropped at the sight. _Where did_ they come _from?_ Next thing he knew, he was clenching his hands in a weak attempt to push himself away, until his body registered the soft surface of a… _mattress?_ He froze, his eyes widening in disbelief. Darting his gaze to all directions, he realised to his utter surprise that he was in a sunlit room, on a large bed.

_How in the world did I end up here?_

Just then a gentle breeze coming in contact with his body made him register something just as important. Turning crimson, he dared a peek down at himself.

Thank the Valar, he still had his breeches on!

"My, look at this! He's shy!" one of the women exclaimed, grinning.

"We don't bite, you know," said another one. "We merely wanted to look at you."

"After all, we don't always see Elves from so close," said the third one with a nod.

"Well, girls, you have looked at him enough! Can't you see you're frightening him almost out of his wits?" another voice said at that moment, belonging to an elderly woman by the sound of things.

Curiosity overwhelming him, Ceranos looked in the direction of the door. Sure enough, a woman with deep lines of age on her face but eyes shining brightly was there, holding a water basin, some bandages and some clothes.

"Now shoo, all three of you!" she said to the three younger women. "Lord Elessar said our guest is to get as much rest as he can – that's what the Houses of Healing are for, not finding mates!"

"All right, Ioreth, no need to make such a fuss!" the girls laughed and headed towards the exit. "Farewell, fair Elf! Don't be intimidated by Ioreth, her bark is worse than her bite!"

"Bah!" The old woman pushed the door closed with her leg and then walked up to Ceranos, mumbling: "You leave them alone for a few moments and they all start gawping at every man they set their eyes upon." Seeing the apprehensive look that Ceranos gave her, however, made her smile warmly. "Do not mind us, my lord. Our work is difficult and we need to perk ourselves up every once and a while."

Ceranos nodded his understanding and relaxed a bit. He still couldn't rid himself of his fears though, not to mention the fact that Ioreth calling him lord made him feel awkward. After all, he was not one – not anymore anyway. Locking his gaze on the old woman, he studied her warily even she helped him sit up.

"The wound isn't healing quickly, but at least it's not very big, my lord. You should be up and about soon enough," Ioreth declared, examining the Elf's shoulder. "When they brought you here this morning, my son, who was holding one end of the stretcher that carried you, kept telling me how awful you looked and how he didn't think you would survive." Ioreth chuckled slightly as she now started washing away the dried blood that had formed on the injury. "Indor is a fine soldier under our king's command, but _I_ have seen quite remarkable things happening in here. All the healers still talk about the time the steward's son was at death's door and our king healed him with mere kingsfoil! Right about the time the War was about to end, in fact. Let me see, when was that?" she pondered, clearly talking more to herself now than to Ceranos. "Bless me, it's been two years since then! And two years since the War ended! Time flies, doesn't it? Did you fight in the War?"

Ceranos's answer was only a small, absent-minded nod, for now another thought preoccupied his mind, making him almost dizzy. He was captive for only two years? It had felt more like centuries.

"Bad times, weren't they?" said Ioreth, noticing the clouded expression in the elf's face. "At least we were victorious and now that Gondor has a king once again, we don't have to fear anything again."

Ceranos tried hard to grasp all the information he could get from Ioreth's talkativeness. So he was in Gondor. He had heard of that realm of Men before, but, as far as he knew, there had been no king till now. Time then, no matter how small, has a way of changing things.

"Remarkable man, Lord Elessar, don't you think? He has travelled all over Middle-earth, they say, and I believe it. He has the oddest set of acquaintances I've seen in my long life! Wizards, Dwarves, Halflings, you name it! He's even married to an elf! And my, Lady Arwen is beautiful as she is kind! The entire household was worried when news came of her disappearance, you know!"

Ceranos's teeth clenched involuntarily, realising the ambush that had been set up for him.

_You did not see malevolence when you looked into her eyes though, did you?_

He sighed as he admitted to himself that didn't. He rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache settling.

"Indor told me it was you who finally found Lady Arwen. Is it true?" Ioreth asked then as she re-bandaged shoulder.

Ceranos answered with another weary nod. Mahal, maybe he was not treated cruelly… yet, but he still felt trapped. He shuddered violently, the very thought making his blood run cold in his veins.

"Frankly, my lord, _I_ should be the one shivering! You feel as cold as ice, if I may be so bold to say!" Ioreth noted. She placed a hand over Ceranos's forehead. "You're not feverish at least. Here, these should make things better for you." She picked up the nightclothes she brought when coming in and helped Ceranos dress; then tenderly placed a blanket over him.

"There, all done!" she finally said, smiling. "I can also fetch you a cup of nice hot milk if you like to warm your insides." Puzzled, she noticed that the Elf was looking at her thoughtfully. "Did I say something wrong, my lord?"

Ceranos instantly shook his head, trying to show that Ioreth had merely misunderstood him. Seeing no other way, he forced himself to do something he never thought he was capable of doing ever again: he tugged his lips to a small smile.

"Very well, my lord," said Ioreth, answering with a broad smile of her own. "Try to make yourself comfortable and I will return shortly."

And with that she walked out, leaving Ceranos for the time being alone with his thoughts.

* * *

><p>Elrohir picked up the glass of wine Arwen had offered and sipped thoughtfully. None of the three siblings spoke for a very long time and an uncomfortable silence reigned in the room, even as they sat in the sofa. It was something both Legolas and Gimli had apparently sensed, for they had excused themselves some time before.<p>

"Daurir's tale is all too familiar," Elrohir finally said in a grim tone.

"You spoke my mind as well, brother," Elladan sid. "That is why you wish to help him, is it not, Arwen?"

Arwen nodded. "I have to believe he can find peace."

Elrohir shook his head. "We tried that with Mother and we failed. Keeping him here confined will only add to his distress and sorrow. There is only one place where one can find the peace he so desires. Even father knew of this and that is why he let Mother sail west."

"On the other hand, the Grey Havens are far from here and Valinor even farther. I do not think he will last if he attempts that journey," said Elladan.

"Mother did," argued Elrohir.

"She had not suffered the burden of her torments as long as Daurir has," Arwen pointed. "He had to endure for two years, Elrohir; and let us not forget that Mother had us and Father to help her, whereas he is alone."

Elladan nodded his understanding. "What are the symptoms so far?"

Elrohir nodded, a sign that he was interested in what the answer might be also.

Arwen pursed her lips in thought momentarily. "Though he has proved he is capable of great outbursts of energy, Daurir lacks strength overall. He gets tired too easily, even when he is performing the least of tasks. The weakening of his life-force could also explain why his natural healing ability is stumped to the point of being almost non-existent. Moreover, he is cold to the touch and his eyes have darkened, reflecting the burden of his spirit. And, what is worse is…" She stopped.

"What?" asked the twins, intrigued.

"While he was with me, he suffered through a painful strain in his heart; an attempt of his spirit to abandon the body and flee to the Halls of Mandos. I have reasons to believe that this happened before and, if Daurir keeps fading, the pain will only increase in tension and frequency."

The twins sighed, both sharing the same thought.

"Mother had left for the Undying Lands long before she had such symptoms," Elladan commented.

"What of his emotional state?" Elrohir asked.

"Unstable," Arwen answered. "He is detached and indifferent for the most part, but become aggressive and violent the moment he feels provoked. He has also shown signs of lack of concentration and indecision when it comes to important matters; even confusion."

"Has he shown any signs of trusting anyone?"

"Not any clear ones. He has, however, shown signs who he does not trust."

"The race of Men," Elladan said sagely.

Arwen nodded.

"Then it's quite obvious who should talk to him," Elladan declared.

"Who?" Arwen asked.

"…Aragorn."

* * *

><p>"No! It cannot be me!" Aragorn exclaimed. "We were ready to kill each other only yesterday!"<p>

"Which is precisely why it must be you, Aragorn," Elrond said firmly. "Judging by the way the clash happened, it is clear to me that you both misunderstood the other's actions. Once this has been sorted, Daurir will be willing to listen to anything else you have to say to him. Moreover, the fact that you are of the race of Men and yet still offering that gesture of peace will mean more to him than the fact that you are married to Arwen or that you are the ruler of one of the Free peoples of Middle-earth."

"How?"

"Is it not obvious?" Elrond replied. "He was forced to tolerate Men treating him as an inferior for two years. He can now meet someone who will treat him as an equal."

Aragorn looked out of the window, clearly pondering on the situation.

"I am still not certain about this," he finally said with a sigh. "You should have seen his face, Elrond. It reflected such fury and hatred!"

"Feelings that derive from his fear," Elrond said. "Yes, Estel, Daurir is afraid, never doubt that. Help him overcome his fear and you will find a friend in him." He placed a reassuring hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "I know it is difficult, but I never said you should do this alone. Ask anyone's assistance: the twins', Arwen's, even Legolas and Gimli's. Something tells me they will also want to unravel the mystery Daurir presents."

Aragorn thought about it, then finally smiled, albeit weakly.

"I will do as you say. In fact, I will go this instant; Daurir should have woken up by now. Will you come with me?"

"Not this time, no. Daurir must not think that you are visiting him because someone is breathing down your neck. You can, however, escort me up to my quarters; I believe they are on your way if I remember correctly."

Aragorn agreed with a nod. They didn't speak as they walked to Elrond's room through the torch lit corridors. But, as soon as the Man was ready to leave and continue on to the Houses of Healing, Elrond grasped his arm lightly.

"Aragorn, the most important thing is that Daurir must not feel like a slave. Do _not_ force anything out of him. Remember that."

Aragorn nodded. "I will remember."

And with that, the man made a beeline for the Houses of Healing.

TBC…


	9. Second Encounter

Ceranos finally drank the last draught of the milk Ioreth had brought him, and then placed the mug on the nightstand next to him. He couldn't follow the advice the woman had given him and rest some more, though. It was ironic, come to think of it. He had longed for a warm, cosy bed these past two years badly, but now it looked like he needed the stiffness of the floor in order for sleep to claim him. However, he was too weak to get out of bed for the present. Morever, even if he weren't, anyone coming in and seeing him sleeping on the floor would consider him mad.

So, not knowing what else to do and having already seen whatever there was to be seen on the walls of his room, he pricked his ears to pick any sound that might be heard outside the door.

"Yes, Sire, he was taken care of, just as you requested... No, indeed, he didn't cause any trouble whatsoever; he was as meek as a lamb."

_Ioreth_, Ceranos thought, recognising the voice. And he understood quite well to whom she was talking: Lord Elessar, the King of Gondor.

_He had better not come in here_. Ceranos didn't wish to see him, not after what had happened between the two of them. He was certain that the man was angry with him; probably as much as _he_ was with the man, in fact.

"Of course you can see him, Sire. I am sure he would like to see you and thank you for the hospitality you offered him!"

_Oh no_, the elf thought with an inward groan. _What am I to do now?_

The sound of the doorknob turning snapped Ceranos into action. He closed his eyes and held perfectly still, pretending to be asleep. Too late did he realise that, though _he_ had made it a habit to close his eyes before sleeping, the other Elves simply unfocused their gaze. He opened his eyelids in the hopes of correcting his blunder before being noticed, but it was not meant to be. The man was already by his side, looking at him curiously.

"Is something the matter?" Aragorn had noticed what the elf did, and he couldn't help thinking that Daurir's behaviour was more than just a little strange.

Daurir shook his head, but the Man saw the Elf's hands balled into fists. Something _was_ wrong.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?"

Daurir didn't reply this time, but even his silence was enough as an answer to Aragorn.

"I do not blame you. Our first meeting was dreadful," Aragorn noted with a light chuckle. He quickly cleared his throat, however, when he saw that Daurir wasn't sharing the humour of the situation.

"Look," he attempted again, sighing. "I came here for two things. Firstly, to say that it was wrong of me to think you were about to hurt my wife when you went through such pains to help her. I hope you will find it in your heart to give me a chance to prove myself to you. Who knows, perhaps even forgive me in time?"

Daurir's face revealed no emotion, but Aragorn noticed the dark gaze was locked on him. Considering it as a sign for him to go on, the man ventured to speak again.

"The other thing I wanted to tell you is: Thank you for looking after Arwen. I wish there were enough words to tell you what service you have done not only to this realm, but also to me. That is why I wish to ask something of you."

Daurir's expression hardened at Aragorn's last words. It was evident that the elf had been expecting a catch in such fine talk and now he believed that it was coming up.

"Arwen told me of your unhappy life. How you lost your kin and the life you knew because of the War…"

Daurir turned his head in clear protest.

"Just listen to what I have to say!"

The elf, however, didn't heed him. He made a motion as if to get out of bed, while his hands reached for his bandages on his shoulder, ready to shred them to pieces. Aragorn rushed to the other side of the bed and placed his hands over Daurir's, stopping him.

"Do not let your pride make you think I am showing you pity!" he said. "I only ask for a few moments; what I say might interest you. If not, you are free to go where you like."

Daurir froze, clearly in turmoil. Worse, Aragorn could see the elf's eyes had locked on the man's hands, currently covering his own – he was even trembling! Aragorn drew back and held up his hands placatingly, offering back the elf's personal space.

The instant Aragorn pulled his hands away, Daurir's body lost some of its tension and his breathing became more relaxed. And, even though his eyes still carried their wary expression, Aragorn decided that things were improving. If anything, he could now finish what he had to say without worrying about the elf's fury.

"You are free to stay here till your wounds heal, that goes without saying," he said. "However, I would rather you stayed even after that, perhaps even start a new life here. The men here are good and honourable, and there are other elves here that you can befriend, my wife included. I hope there will come a time that you can consider this place your home, where you can turn to whenever you are in need. It is the least I can offer you as thanks."

It took several moments, but Aragorn finally got his answer. Daurir bowed his head and settled again on the bed. And yet the man couldn't help noticing that the elf's expression was sad.

"Take your time and think about what I said," he said gently; he still remembered Elrond's words. "I merely suggested an option to consider. The rest is up to you."

Daurir nodded again, yet not looking in the direction of Aragorn. The elf clearly wanted this conversation to end.

"I will let you be," Aragorn said, doing his best not to sigh in resignation. "Get some rest. If you need anything, the healers will be happy to help you. I have a busy schedule tomorrow, but I will make time to come and see you again. Is that all right with you?"

Daurir didn't bother with an answer. His gaze was locked stubbornly downwards, while his hands fumbled the end of his sheet nervously. It was a motion that intrigued Aragorn, for it seemed familiar for some reason or other…

He shook his head, shaking away such thoughts. There was no reason they could be familiar.

"I am sorry," he apologised and got back on his feet. "Have a good night."

And with that, Aragorn walked out, leaving Daurir alone with his thoughts.

* * *

><p>Ceranos felt he could breathe again only once he heard the sound of the door closing. Even so, he couldn't rid himself of the burden that had settled in his heart. For the life of him, he couldn't understand why the man wanted him to stay here. What was he to do? He had intended to leave the moment he was strong enough to walk!<p>

He winced at the stubbornly stinging sensation on his shoulder as it still lingered, then sighed for it reminded him of another painful truth. If he left, where was he to go? There was the option of answering the call of Mandos, but he wouldn't be able to find his family there either – they would be in different halls. It wouldn't make a difference in the world.

And yet… did it really matter anymore? Ceranos heaved a sigh and buried his face in his hands. He was tired of merely accepting anything fate brought him on his path, forcing him to drag on his existence for another day. He wanted to let go and put an end to everything.

Before he could help it, he recalled in his mind's eye the time the elven archer had wounded him on the shoulder. He had run all day and night, until he had finally collapsed on the ground, overcome by exhaustion. He hadn't minded the puddle of mud in which he landed, nor indeed his blood flowing out of his injury, turning the unclean water into a sickening brown and crimson blend. He had merely shut his eyes and listened to his heartbeat, sighing a bit as the fast, rhythmic sound was lulling him seductively. And as he still lay there, he had fleetingly wondered if he would be able to dream if he fell asleep there and then….He couldn't even remember the last time that he had any dreams.

And then another, more terrifying thought pierced his mind and very core. The idea of him, dead on the ground, abandoned as an outcast and bereft of friends and kin. Falling prey to all scavenging animals or, worse, rotting under the relentless elements of nature - forgotten by everything and everyone.

_It does not have to be this way. _

Surprised at the small reassuring thought in his mind, he turned his gaze to the night-cloaked city, clearly visible through the window in his room.

No. he supposed it didn't have to be that way. At least if he stayed here, he'd get a proper burial…

With that last thought, he curled himself on his uninjured side, throwing away the pillows that had been bending his back out of shape all this time, and closed his eyes. In a matter of moments, his emotional weariness had caught up with him and he was drifted into a dreamless slumber.


	10. A Spark Of Light

Arwen's eyes blinked back into focus as she woke up, alarmed by Aragorn's stirring. Looking over her shoulder, she was surprised to see that it was no trick of her mind, her husband was indeed tossing and turning, obviously caught in a nightmare.

"Aragorn?" she whispered.

The man didn't respond, still lost in the land of dreams. All that was left for Arwen to do was sit up and shake him gently, but firmly.

"_Hervenn nín, echuio._"*

Aragorn woke up with a light gasp, startled and disoriented. His gaze darted in every direction as though looking for something; but, when he saw Arwen, he let out a soft sigh of relief and relaxed once more.

"Thank you," he murmured, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

The Elven-woman smiled gently, but she also knew she needed more than that if it meant helping out her husband. She ran her fingers tenderly through Aragorn's sweat-dampened hair, offering her comfort the best she could.

"Do you wish to speak of it?"

Aragorn didn't answer at once. Needing the woman's warmth close to him, he placed an arm across her form and then rested his head against her chest to listen to her heartbeat. Arwen couldn't help but softly smile at that, and she returned the embrace in a soothing fashion. She was there for him and she would listen. All he had to do was take his time to find the right words and then simply go ahead and say what was on his mind.

"Do you remember what I told you about Amon Sûl?" Aragorn finally asked.

"I do," Arwen answered. "You were guiding the Hobbits, and the Ringwraiths caught up with you there."

Aragorn nodded. "I was there again, yet there was no sign of Frodo or the others this time. I looked for them, fearing the worst, and I found myself in the middle of the ruins, but there was nothing to be seen. I shouted the Hobbits' names, one by one, yet I did not get an answer back. And then my blood ran cold in my veins and, looking over my shoulder, I saw one of the Wraiths standing a few feet away from me. His sword was already in his hands and he came at me; I only had that much time to unsheathe my own sword and block his attack."

The man's hands clenched into fists as he recalled his dream. Arwen, however, was the epitome of calmness, allowing Aragorn to carry on with his tale.

"We fought for what felt like hours on end, an equal match for the other. A storm started brewing over our heads and then lightning struck hither and thither, though neither of us paid heed to it. Just as our clash got fiercer, lightning struck my sword and made it burst into flames. The red tongues didn't harm my hands, but the Wraith stepped back in apparent fright. Seeing my chance, I smote him with every ounce of strength within me, wielding with the fiery blade.

"A blood-curdling cry filled the air as the Wraith's robes caught fire, yet the Wraith itself made no attempt to flee. It merely writhed in obvious pain before me, its form revealing itself as the robes were consumed to ashes. In the end, I was even able to discern a face… if it could be labelled as such. There was only a pair of sea-green eyes in a frame of transparent white, and… Valar save me, but I knew those eyes, Arwen. The last time I had seen them there was brilliant life in them, and now there was nothing more but sorrow and regret! My heart felt like it came to a stop; everything came to a standstill. And just when I thought I was losing my mind, you woke me up."

Arwen stroked her husband's face gently. "Whose eyes did you see?" she asked.

It took many moments for Aragorn to finally answer, shaking his head. "It is of no matter. It's been a long time since I saw him and he's quite dead."

"Aragorn, everything we see in our dreams is of importance," the Elven-woman pointed out.

"But this dream makes no sense," Aragorn sighed. "Why would I see such a thing, unless…?" He froze, his body tensing. "Unless I am warned against a danger that is yet to come? An evil that will consume everything I care for?"

Arwen shushed him gently. "My love, not all dreams are glimpses to the future. What danger is yet to come when the worst of evils has already been destroyed?"

"Then what could be the meaning of it?"

Arwen sat up, taking Aragorn's hands in her own. "My father told me long ago that dreams are often the mind's way to express our desires, or even things that we fear. Sometimes, however, dreams can also be a way for the mind to sort out memories and knowledge we gain in our lives. And, if there is anything troubling us, the mind still tries to find a solution while we are sleeping, using those memories and knowledge and connecting them to a whole, forming the dream. It is true the mind, working in peculiar ways, connects knowledge and memories quite strangely at times, thus giving the dreams the feeling of the bizarre. Nevertheless, the answer is there. All we have to do is discover the hidden meanings within those dreams."

"And how am I to find those answers?" Aragorn wondered.

"Ah, now we come down to it," Arwen said, a weak smile on her lips. "I am afraid that the only way you can find them is if you find the root of your troubles; whatever it is that caused that dream."

Aragorn pursed his lips thoughtfully, taking Arwen's words under consideration. He wasn't sure how he could find the root of the problem when he wasn't even sure what he was supposed to be looking for. However, he couldn't bow his head in defeat either. Perhaps the solution would be to keep an open mind – and eye – to everything and see where things went.

"I will do as you say," he finally said and looked outside the window. "Arien has arisen. We should get up as well if we're to see to our duties for today."

Arwen smiled mischievously and didn't let him go.

"There is no need to go anywhere for the present," she said softly, stroking Aragorn's cheek tenderly. "The servants know their chores and no urgent matter has come up as of yet." A fleeting kiss teased the Man's lips. "More importantly, no one knows we have woken up yet," she added in a murmur, sealing their lips in another, deeper kiss.

It was such a tantalizing request that Aragorn couldn't find the strength to say no. As a small moan of pleasure flowed out of his lips, he wrapped his arms around Arwen's slim waist and gently laid her down. They were so close now that he could feel her heartbeat close to his…

And then there was a knock at the door.

"Sire? Are you awake? A rider from Rohan has come, saying that he's from Lord Éomer's escort."

The couple groaned as quietly as possible in case they were heard.  
>"The urgent matters caught up with us," Aragorn said wryly, and he rose reluctantly to get dressed. "Make certain the newcomer feels welcome; I will arrive shortly!" he commanded the servant through the closed door. "And have the rest of you prepared for more visitors! I am certain the scout is here to announce Lord Éomer's arrival in Minas Tirith!"<p>

"Yes, Sire."

The sound of hurried footsteps clearly indicated the servant had left. As for Aragorn, he cast an apologetic glance in Arwen's direction, but the elven-woman wasn't troubled. She merely rose and gave her husband a loving kiss.

"There will be other times," she reassured him. "Now go. I will see you soon enough."

Aragorn nodded and, after caressing his wife's cheek in affection, he walked out, ready to see to his kingly duties once again.

* * *

><p>Ceranos woke up and then closed his eyes with a groan as the sunlight hit him directly on the face. He attempted opening his eyes, using his hand as a screen this time, and he dared a peek around. Just when he was about to wonder where he was, his memories caught up with him. He was in Gondor, at the Houses of Healing, where his wound was taken care of by Lord Elessar's orders.<p>

He slowly sat up, using his strong arm as support. He winced as he felt his head heavy and his body more than a little sore, but he didn't let that deter him. He knew perfectly well why he felt tired, despite of his rest; it was part of his fading process. Apparently there was no stopping it anymore…

The faint smell of food cut into his train of thought. His nostrils twitching gently, he turned around and saw to his surprise that on the nightstand was a tray containing a bowl filled with soup and a plate with fruit. A part of the elf felt rather dismayed that he hadn't heard anyone coming in while he was sleeping; elves' senses were supposed to be sharper than that after all. As he still looked at the tray, though, Ceranos couldn't help but sigh. There was no doubt in his mind that the soup and the fruit were quite tasty, but, the truth of the matter was, he didn't feel hungry. In fact, the very idea that he'd have to go through this process of feeding seemed too much.

He pushed the tray a little further away as though to distance himself from it, and then looked around again. Tiredness was slowly getting replaced by restlessness, and he wished to do something about it. Staying within these four walls, powerless, felt too much like he was back in Rhûn now. Did he have the strength to get out of the bed though?

_There is only one way to find out. _

He placed one foot on the floor, then the other. He didn't much care for the feeling of the cold marble on his skin and, once he got used to the slight chill, he stood up. Reassured and growing more confident, Ceranos then targeted the chair with a set of clothes on it, wishing to see if he now had the vigour to walk. Being extra careful in case he lost his balance or felt dizzy, he walked up to the chair, happy to see that things were not as difficult as he had feared. He felt far from healthy, by all means, but part of his strength was back - for now at least.

Pleased with himself, Ceranos became bolder and decided that, if he were to stay here, as Lord Elessar had suggested to him, he had to learn a thing or two about the place firsthand. So he would venture out of the room and have a look around.

Though a fine plan, there was quite the snag to it, though. Ceranos was certain the healers would never allow him to go too far away, not while he was still recovering. They would return him to the room the instant they saw him.

_Do not let yourself be seen then._

He reached for the clothes. There was a shirt, a pair of leggings and boots.

_They will suffice, _the elf thought with a shrug. As soon as he got dressed, he put the pillows and nightclothes under the sheets in such a way that, if anyone came in, they would think Ceranos was still sleeping. It was a deceit, there was no denying that, but it was necessary if it meant exploring the place without being missed.

With that thought in mind, he opened the door and looked around. Once he deemed that there was no one in the corridor and he had a good chance to make his escape, he walked out. With any luck, he would be back before anyone noticed him.

* * *

><p>The soft murmur that had permeated the Great Hall ceased the moment the doors opened and Lord Elessar and Queen Arwen walked in, dressed in their royal clothing. The servants and all the people within watched in admiration at the couple, whispers of approval sounding here and there. Yet no one could realise that, behind the grace that Aragorn and Arwen displayed, there was great anxiety within their hearts; for the scout had said to Lord Elessar that Éomer's escort was only an hour's ride away from Minas Tirith, and so all appropriate preparations had to be done in quite the short notice. What was worse, the guests were, for some reason or other, delayed.<p>

"I am sorry, Arwen," Aragorn whispered so softly that only his wife heard him.

"Whatever for?" Arwen asked in the same tone, clearly puzzled.

"For not welcoming your father as it was fit to the Lord of Imladris. Now these arrangements for Éomer's sake make me feel uncomfortable."

"You welcomed him as a son welcomes his father," Arwen said with a small smile. "Moreover, I am quite certain that he understood it could not be helped. You have told him about Daurir, have you not?"

"Yes, and I believe that you have spoken to your brothers as well. I overheard them conversing with Legolas and Gimli as we were heading here."

"They cannot help but feel curious, like all of us. They even expressed their wish to meet him once he is a bit stronger."

"That will be arranged in due time," Aragorn said.

Just then, the Great Doors opened and one of the guards declared in a loud clear voice, "Éomer King, ruler of Rohan, home of the Horse-lords, and his wife, Queen Lothíriel."

As if right on cue, the King and Queen of Rohan walked, causing everyone to stare in awe. Though Éomer came from blood of less greatness than those of Gondor, the last remnant of the Númenóreans, he walked with a pride and strength that could be seen in few people; whereas Lothíriel's graceful and fair countenance reflected clearly her own Elven heritage, characteristic of all the people of Dol Amroth.

"Welcome, friend Éomer, ally of these lands," Aragorn said in a formal greeting. "Your presence here honours us all."

"The honour is mine, my friend and ally," Éomer answered, bowing his head slightly.

Aragorn, however, clasped a hand on his shoulder. "You need not bow. Though it has been a long time since we have last met, our bonds of allegiance have not worn down."

"No, they have not indeed," Éomer smiled. "Nevertheless, I should apologise for my delay. One of my horse's horseshoes loosened on our way here and I wouldn't discomfit it more than necessary."

"I will have the blacksmith look into it, do not fret," Aragorn said, and he looked in the direction of his head-servant. Nodding his understanding, the latter rushed to carry out his lord's order. "Is everything well in the land of Rohan?" He couldn't help noticing that Éomer's skin was a bit discoloured around the eyes.

"It is now," the young king answered, sensing Aragorn's curiosity. "I will tell you the tale some time, if you wish it."

Aragorn nodded. "You can speak of it during luncheon. The table has already been set and I am certain both you and your wife will appreciate the nourishment after such a long journey."

"Thank you, my friend," Éomer's smiled.

Aragorn smiled back and, with a wave of his hand, dismissed everyone in the court before taking Arwen by the hand to escort her and the newcomers to the dining hall. At that moment, however, a healer burst through the door and approached his lord, agitated.

"My Lord, the Elf you asked us to attend to," he panted in an attempt to speak and catch his breath at the same time, "Is gone."

Aragorn and Arwen exchanged a glance full of worry.

"Have you not looked for him?" Arwen asked the healer.

"We have, my Lady. He's nowhere in the Houses of Healing," answered the healer, distressed.

"Then try searching everywhere else," Aragorn said. "Even out in the streets if it is necessary. He cannot have gone too far away in his condition. Once you locate him and he is safe back into his room, let me know."

"Yes, my Lord." And with that, the healer hurried out again.

It was now Éomer's turn to look at Aragorn puzzled. "Is something amiss?"

"It seems I have my own tale to tell you, my friend," Aragorn answered with a smirk. "Let us go to the dining hall."

TBC…

**Footnotes**:

*_Hervenn nín, echuio_: Husband, wake up (Sindarin)

A/n: There is a reason behind that discoloration in Eomer's eyes, but that's another story. I'll set it up once this one's finished.


	11. Fire

Ceranos smiled inwardly as another servant passed by him without taking any notice. It seemed everyone was too absorbed on their own duties to pay attention to a wanderer in the halls, even though he was obviously a stranger. Moreover, Ceranos discovered something intriguing considering his hair. Though short for an Elf's, it was just about the same length a Gondorian's was and, if he placed his strands in a way that it covered his leaf-shaped ears, he could pass as one of them. As the chance was too good an opportunity to pass up, he used this knowledge to his advantage and thus walked to every inch of the palace to observe the people.

He had to admit to himself that he liked what he saw. Life here was certainly very different than in Rhûn, and the city and its people seemed prosperous. More importantly, it was so quiet and peaceful that he could picture himself living here. It was just what he needed.

Yet the question still remained… what could he possibly do here? What kind of service was he to offer to a city of Men? If he had learned anything well, it was that no one offered anything without expecting something in return. Lord Elessar's offer, though kind, couldn't possibly be an exception. And that brought up the next question: What did the king possibly want from him? Could it be his experience as a warrior?

Ceranos shook his head with a grim smile. Minas Tirith had more than enough soldiers and the elf doubted one more would make a difference. Even if Elessar did with he remained here for that reason, Ceranos would have to decline. He had grown tired of fighting.

In that moment, he caught something green from the corner of his eye and turned around. There, out the window, was a beautiful garden in full bloom, every flower painted in a different colour as is a rainbow had showered on them. He leant against the frame, and he couldn't help but smile at the sight. He couldn't even remember the last time that he had seen something so beautiful. And as the sunlight hit him, he could feel the cold surrounding him crawling away, his muscles tingling back to life. Deciding that his exploring could wait a little while longer, he sat on the frame with stretched arms and legs and closed his eyes, savouring the warmth of the sunrays and letting himself be lulled to sleep by the rustling of the leaves and the sharp chirping of the birds.

Just then, his ears picked up the sound of talking. Frowning, he opened his eyes and sat up. Unless he was sorely mistaken, the talking seemed to come from the direction of the garden. And, sure enough, the source of the talking made its appearance. The blond archer and the dwarf were walking in the garden, and they weren't alone. Two other elves, dark-haired, were accompanying them.

Ceranos's first thought was to leave before he was being noticed, but… he kept staring at the dwarf instead. He looked so much Náin that it was almost like a bad joke.

He opened his mouth to call at them, to call at him, a fellow dwarf, wishing to ask something, anything. Was he from the Blue Mountains? Did he have news of Nogrod? How was his clan? Did they fare well? Did they miss him?!

But… no. What good would that do? It would only make the longing all the more painful…

Memories of old pierced his mind, their burden making Ceranos slide down on the floor. He embraced his legs and let his head rest on his knees as he unconsciously contemplated his life again.

_I am alone. _

A tingling sensation crawled down his spine and Ceranos snapped his head up. Another elf was standing next to him, a few inches away, and Ceranos almost jumped. He didn't understand why he hadn't sensed him approaching sooner, nor did he think he should stay and wonder about it. He hastily got back to his feet, ready to run away. But then, in probably the worst timing possible, a familiar pang of pain coursed through his heard and he found himself collapsed on the floor. He didn't even have the chance to be ashamed for proving such a poor sight to the elf as tears sprang up involuntarily, feeling as if he was torn to pieces from within. All he could do was keep still, trying to ease the pain somehow. He couldn't even afford to object when a pair of hands caught him gently, helping him up to a sitting position.

"_Sedho, erneth_."*

Before Ceranos could say anything, a warm hand landed on his back, and the other rested against his chest, close to his heart. In a matter of moments, the pain ebbed away, replaced by sweet, soothing warmth, Ceranos felt like he could breathe again. Relieved, he looked up at his fellow elf and nodded his thanks.

"You are welcome," the elf smiled, still using the Elven-Tongue, and then his eyes locked on his bandaged shoulder. "Will you tell me who decided you could get out of bed when your body is still on the mend?"

Ceranos cringed, unsure how to explain things. In the end, though, he realised that he had to be honest, so he pointed at himself. All the blood in his body rushed to his face, flaring it as he grinned sheepishly.

To his surprise, the elf actually laughed. "I should have expected it. May I sit next to you?"

Ceranos blinked, surprised. Surely the elf didn't intend to sit on the floor? He looked much too dignified for that sort of thing.

"It is best you did not get up yet, and you can hardly expect me to stoop the whole time I am speaking to you, can you, young one?" he noted, his lips tugging to a small smile.

Realising that that made sense, Ceranos finally nodded and gave his consent. The Elf gathered his robes about him and sat, resting his back against the wall.

"Now, can you tell me why you left your room? Do not fret, I was told of your story and what happened to your voice. Explain things the best you can."

Ceranos was hardly reassured; he wasn't certain the Elf would be able to understand him if he simply used gestures. Still, he also knew that he didn't have much choice in the matter. So, signing slowly, he even started mouthing their meaning to make things a little less complicated.

_I wanted to see the place._

The Elf nodded. "You felt cooped up alone in your room. What you did was foolish though. You should have waited till you made full recovery and then ask someone to show you Minas Tirith."

There was neither rebuke nor anger in the elf's tone; nevertheless, Ceranos couldn't help but feel guilty. He bowed his head, signifying his apology.

He was in for a second surprise when he felt the elf's hand on his shoulder, gently prodding him to look up once more.

"That does not mean I do not understand," he said, the same small smile appearing on his lips. "My sons can be much worse and they are supposed to be knowledgeable to the arts of healing."

_His sons?_ Ceranos's mind strayed to the black-haired Elves he saw in the garden, and he acknowledged the resemblance.

"You know of whom I am talking about?" the elf asked.

Ceranos pointed outside, where he could still hear the other three elves and the dwarf talking. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt rather relieved that he could hold a conversation with the older elf so effortlessly. He could even feel the tension and wariness ebbing away, relaxing him further. Though that was probably unwise, considering that he was still in unfamiliar territory, there was something kind and trusting about this elf. He couldn't explain it any other way.

The Elf looked out and his smile broadened.

"Yes, that is them." He helped Daurir back on his feet so that he could look out the window as well. "The one on the left is Elladan and the one on the right is Elrohir," he said.

Ceranos pointed at them again and traced his face with his hand. _Same, _he mouthed.

"Of course they are the same, they are twins. You can tell them apart if you look closely, though. And if you get to know them, you will realise their character is also quite different. Elrohir is more cautious in his words and actions, whereas Elladan is straightforward and stubborn. Of the two, Elladan was the worst whenever he had to be treated of injuries he sustained in a fight. Once, he broke his leg and was attacked by Wargs, leaving him in such a weak state that everyone doubted he would recover any time soon. Yet, two days later, Elrohir was chasing him around the halls to make him stay in bed. It is intriguing how fast an Elf with crutches can move."

Before he realised what was happening, a series of small gasps forced themselves out of Ceranos' lips. Though no sound came out, Ceranos still identified it for what it was, and he was shocked. He immediately covered his mouth and stopped, his eyes widening.

He had laughed. But… _Why?_

A hand cupped his face and Ceranos looked at the older elf, confused.

"You thought it was funny," the elf explained, as if reading Ceranos's mind. "You shouldn't be ashamed or puzzled. If anything, it is at times like these that we remember we're alive."

Ceranos sighed. He didn't want to be reminded he was alive, thank you very much. It only reminded him that others weren't.

A thumb stroked his cheek in a kind, comforting fashion. "I know it seems unfair for you to be alive when everything and everyone you loved is gone. But do you think those that you left behind would want you to torment yourself so? What do you think would happen if they were able to see you now, like this?"

The words pierced through Ceranos's heart, the answer numbing him and forcing him to put things under different perspective. For he now realised that, if Náin or Lóin saw him like that now, it would break their heart…

_I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…_

The tears sprang up in his eyes before he could stop himself, and then the elf's arms were wrapped around him, cocooning him with their kind warmth. Telling him it was all right to let go.

The spell broke as the sound of footsteps reached his ears. Ceranos stepped back and shook his head at once, wiping his eyes and regaining his composure. Crying never helped anyone and he'd rather he didn't make himself a spectacle.

"Do not fret, I know who they are," the elf said softly. "Elladan! Elrohir! Come here a moment, please, and bring Legolas and Gimli with you!" He pretended not to notice Ceranos signing to him frantically to keep his voice down, and he simply stepped aside when Ceranos tried to hide behind him.

* * *

><p>"You called us, father?" Elladan asked, speaking in the Common-tongue. He got his answer when his eyes locked on the short-haired Elf, trying to hide behind his father. "Is that who I think it is?" he exclaimed.<p>

"Indeed it is," Elrond replied.

Elrohir approached, his curiosity evident in his eyes, and then extended his arm. "Hello. Estel told us about you. We have been meaning to make your acquaintance."

Daurir looked at the hand in hesitation, but he finally decided to return the courtesy at the very least. He returned the greeting, his eyes never leaving either twin, and then he repeated it towards Legolas.

"How's your shoulder?" Legolas asked, cocking his head.

Daurir simply shrugged, but everyone noticed that his motion was stiff – it was clear he was still sore.

"I'm sorry, but I had to protect my friends."

Daurir nodded, mouthing 'I understand' with a small, albeit weak smile. What no one expected, however, was to see the silent elf bow low in front of Gimli, imitating the dwarven greeting perfectly.

"You know your way around dwarves," Gimli said, more than just a little surprised.

"Our acquaintance has more in him than meets the eye," Elrond commented thoughtfully. "Stay with him, all of you, and keep him company. Meanwhile, I will go tell the healers I have found their missing patient."

"As you wish, Father," Elrohir replied.

"It will be good to get acquainted with him, Lord Elrond," Legolas seconded.

* * *

><p>Ceranos felt like stunned. He had been conversing all this time with Elrond Half-Elven? The same one who raised Aragorn? But what was he doing here, of all places? Before he realised what he was doing, he gripped the sleeve of Elrond's robe in a gentle manner, hoping he'd understand that Ceranos wanted him to stay. Ceranos wanted to ask him so many things, about Aragorn, about his business here, about… Mahal, he didn't know from where to begin!<p>

But Elrond smiled and released himself gently, but firmly. "It has to be done, young one. The healers have every right to know where you are and then decide whether they should leave you be or not. Farewell for the present."

And with that, he turned on his heel and walked down the corridor, leaving everyone else behind.

Ceranos sighed. There went his chance…

"Do not worry," Elladan said, smiling reassuringly. "Father will see to it that you can stay with us a little while longer."

Ceranos shook his head. He wasn't concerned about the healers anymore; he simply wanted to learn tidings of his friend, even if he already suspected the worst: that Aragorn had died, either by the sword or by old age, bound to the fate of his race.

Then again though… he was with his sons. Perhaps Elladan and Elrohir would be able to tell him, if he managed to make them understand. With that encouraging thought, Ceranos finally nodded his understanding.

"I do not see why we should stay in the corridor," Elrohir said then. "Daurir should not be standing if he can help it."

Ceranos cringed mentally when he heard the false name. It was the name that people in Rhûn gave him to describe the hateful force he was back at the arena, and now that he realised that he was indeed among friends, he didn't want to hear it from their lips.

"But where should we go?" Gimli asked.

"I suggest we go to my quarters," Legolas said. "They are the closest, and I have some extra pieces of parchment that Daurir can use to write down his thoughts. If it is all right with him, of course."

"Well, you get to have the final word, Daurir," Elladan said, smiling. "Do you think you can cope with us and keep us company?"

Ceranos straightened. The way Elladan spoke the last words were as though he was challenging him. He nodded immediately, wishing to prove himself.

"Let us go then," Elladan said, grinning as he prodded the silent elf to the right direction.

* * *

><p>Hundor wiped the sweaty beads off his face and resumed with his work. He was still one of the finest blacksmiths in Minas Tirith, in spite of his old age; so, when the manservant told him about King Éomer's horse, he had immediately taken up the task. He already had a lot of work to do, what with his apprentice gone to open his own forgery in Emyn Arnen, but he couldn't bring himself to deny working on the hooves of a King's horse.<p>

Sighing, he threw some cold water over his head to cool himself. He had been working since dawn, and the furnace had been making the heat in the room unbearable for quite some time now. It was only natural, really. He didn't have much time in his hands if he wanted to catch up with all the work he had planned on doing today, so he used the bellows to make the fire stronger and thus melt the iron more quickly. In the meantime, he tapped and scraped another long piece of iron in the shape of a sword meant for a young squire.

But… he couldn't concentrate. He rubbed his forehead again, feeling more than a little restless. Worse, his breathing was more strained, indicating that he should go out and have some fresh air. But the man was stubborn, so he gritted his teeth and simply kept working… until the heatstroke caught up with him and he dropped the half-finished sword at his feet.

Only then did he finally admit to himself that he had to stop. He got onto his feet, intending to go out, but it was too late. He collapsed on the floor, knocking down everything that was on the table, including a small lantern.

* * *

><p>Legolas opened the drawer of his nightstand and, after taking out a piece of parchment and a quill, he placed both items in front of Daurir.<p>

"And there's also some ink," he added, handing the small bottle to the shorthaired Elf. "I hope they will suit you."

Daurir didn't answer at once, holding the quill almost reverently, as if afraid to break it. Once he felt sure about himself, though he set the quill down and then wrote in a clear, handsome writing.

_Thank you. It writes wonderfully._

Legolas smiled at the compliment. "It is my father's. He gave it to me in order to write to him whenever I have the chance."

"It was not always your father's though, if my memory serves me right," Elladan noted, his gaze locked on the pen.

Legolas laughed. "Indeed. It was indeed Lord Elrond's. He gave it to my father as a token of friendship."

"I remember. It was a return gift for the bow Lord Thranduil had sent to Rivendell. It is good to see that you still have it with you intact – unlike us, thanks to someone I know." Elladan glared at his twin.

Elrohir glared back, unfazed. "I have already apologised enough times for it!"

"Yes – seventy years ago; whereas you broke it on the day of our coming of age!"

Legolas's couldn't help but laugh again. "You do not intend on letting this matter rest, do you?"

"No!" the twins said at once, indignation and stoic patience mixing as one.

"Legolas."

All three Elves faced Gimli, for the dwarf had sounded quite troubled.

"Here." Gimli handed them the piece of parchment. "Daurir asked me if you are indeed the son of the King of Mirkwood Forest. When I said yes, this is what he wrote."

Legolas read the parchment, and then looked up at Daurir, surprised. Without much thought, he gave it to the twins and, as they read, he sat next to the shorthaired Elf.

The twins also raised an eyebrow at what they saw.

_I met your father. He struck me as an honourable and brave elf._

"How do you know my father?" Legolas asked Daurir. "You can't have been under his service. I would have known about you."

Daurir beckoned Elladan to hand him the piece of parchment, so he could write again.

_I met him once, not long ago._

"When?" asked Legolas.

_During the War. _

That was all he wrote; his writing had become noticeably shaky. And everyone saw that Daurir's jaw had clenched tightly.

"I apologise," Legolas said gently. "I didn't wish to make you uncomfortable, Daurir."

_Do not call me that._

Daurir faced Legolas, and the desperate pleading reflected in the dark eyes made Legolas's heart wrench with sympathy. He looked at the twins and Gimli for help, and Elladan picked up a blanket to place it over Daurir's shoulders.

"What do you wish us to call you?" he asked, using his healing skill to rub some of the tension off Daurir's back.

"Or, even better, what is your real name?" Gimli asked.

Daurir swallowed hard, and his hands clenched into fists; it was clear that this was difficult for him.

"Gimli is right," Elrohir said gently. "We'd like you to consider us your friends. You don't have to be afraid."

Daurir pondered on Elrohir's words, and then nodded his understanding. He picked up the quill once more and dove it into the ink. He had already wiped off the excess ink and was ready to write, but then cries filled the air.

"Fire at the forgery!"

Everyone rushed at the window and saw the black smoke rising in the courtyard. A series of neighs filled the air.

"The stables are near!" exclaimed Elrohir.

"There is no time to lose then! Hurry!" Legolas jumped out the window, landing on the roof a few feet below; and then jumped on the ground with the natural ease of a cat. Elladan and Elrohir followed his example and they were soon on the ground as well, hurrying towards the burning forgery.

"The long way around for me then," muttered Gimli as he burst out of the room.

He didn't see Daurir still standing by the window, his body rigid and his hands grabbing the window frame, struggling to reach to a decision.

* * *

><p>Arod was the first to be led out of the stables, followed soon by Elladan and Elrohir's horses. After they had tethering them away from danger, Legolas and the twins went back into the stables and finally got all the horses out. They had started helping the men to put out the fire, when Aragorn came running, still in his formal attire and followed closely behind by Gimli and Éomer.<p>

"Is anyone inside?" he cried. The forgery was now wrapped in flames, engulfing everything in its red tongues.

"We cannot tell, my Lord; there is too much smoke!" Iorlas answered, carrying another bucket of water.

"Then one of us elves has to go inside!" Legolas said. "I can see through the smoke."

"So can I," Elladan said. "We will both go."

"Are you both mad?" Éomer cried. "The smoke will not blind you, but the heat will kill you."

"Then we have to be swift," Legolas said, and he addressed Gimli. "Throw some water over us."

Gimli pursed his lips, and then got ready to empty the bucket on Legolas and Elladan.

"Wait! Look!" Aragorn shouted in that moment, pointing towards the forgery.

Everybody turned around and they saw it, too: a tall form, using a wet blanket as cover, was carrying on his back the body of Hundor. His legs almost buckled at the weight; it was obvious that the burden was almost too much for him to handle. Yet Daurir – for it was indeed him - still pressed on. Everyone watched with bated breath as the silent elf took one forced step after another, marching in determination. A couple of steps more and he would be outside.

It was then that the roof collapsed, and the two forms vanished beneath the falling debris.

There was no time to be wasted any longer. Everyone snapped into action and, as most of the people started throwing water once more, Aragorn, Legolas, Elladan and Éomer rushed inside. In a matter of moments, all four were out again, dragging Daurir and Hundor with them and laying them on the ground.

"Are they alive?" Éomer asked worriedly.

"Hundor is breathing," Aragorn answered, relieved, and he turned to a couple of soldiers nearby. "Take him to the Houses of Healing."

The soldiers obeyed, and Aragorn found his chance to focus on Daurir. The sight, however, shocked him. The shorthaired Elf had curled to a ball on his side, rocking back and forth, his arms covering his face as though he was shielding himself. And though Elladan did his best to calm him, Aragorn could see the horror in Daurir's eyes as they stared into the void.

TBC…

**Footnotes:**

_*Sedho, erneth: Hold still, young one (Sindarin)_


	12. In The Houses Of Healing

_Chapter 12: Of Deductions And Decisions_

"Will you stay with him, Estel?"

"Someone has to and I would rather it were me me. I wish to speak with him."

Elladan nodded thoughtfully. "Try not to tire him out."

"Do not fret. I have been taught well, remember?" Aragorn answered. "I need a favour from you, though. The forge will have to be repaired, except I cannot supervise the workers while I am here."

"Say no more," said Elladan. "Gimli has already offered his craftsmanship skills, and the rest of us are going to help him. As for the preparations for the banquet," he continued on before Aragorn had the chance to speak, "Father and Arwen will take care of everything. Even Éomer and Lothíriel offered to help."

Aragorn couldn't help but smile. "Thank you."

Elladan smiled back gently, and then motioned his head in the direction of Daurir; the mute elf was lying on his bed, several feet away from them. "I only hope you will be able to get through to him. The shock was great and the herbs can only do that much."

"I will do all that I can."

"I know you will."

Elladan walked out, and Aragorn supposed it was time for him to see his own task at hand. He walked up to the bed and he sat on the char nearby, regarding Daurir closely. The shorthaired elf was curled into a ball and hugging himself. Even in that vulnerable state though, his eyes were locked on Aragorn, watching his every move.

"Are you feeling better now?"

Daurir simply shrugged.

"It was a brave thing, what you tried to do," Aragorn said softly. "It also set me thinking."

Daurir raised an eyebrow, his curiosity visible.

"I thought it strange that you were willing to help Arwen, but I reasoned she was your kin and thus more worthy of trust into your eyes," Aragorn continued. "And when Arwen told me of the girl you looked after all this time since your captivity, I believed you simply understood her pain, being a former slave yourself. And yet, just an hour ago, you were ready to save a man, risking your very life. Moreover, though you had your chance to escape today, I was told that you simply roamed around the place. Why is that?"

Daurir's eyes flashed with anger and he rolled on his other side, turning his back on Aragorn.

"You lost your voice, not your hearing; so you will listen to what I have to say," Aragorn said gently, but firmly. "Arwen assured that you're simply embittered, not looking for revenge. But now I see there's more to it." Yes, Aragorn knew. Elrond tried to tell him before, yet only now he could understand. "You still believe there is good in this world and that it is worth fighting for it. You are still a warrior above all else. Your captors tried to take that from you. They tried to take away your humanity, your honour and your kindness, but you never let them. You buried those feelings inside and kept them safe until you would be free again."

Aragorn waiting for some kind of reaction from Daurir, but it was to no avail. The elf was purposefully ignoring him.

"There lied the problem though," he continued softly. "When you were finally free, you were too afraid to reclaim them. The world seemed too hostile and you did not wish to show anything that could be regarded as weakness."

Only then did Daurir face Aragorn, the question obvious in his glare.

_Are you calling me a coward?_

"No… Hurt," Aragorn answered. "You don't want to be hurt by others again, but it aches you that you are alone. Especially after your nephew died."

Daurir's expression of anger ebbed, replaced by surprise and then by melancholy.

"Yes, I was told of that too," Aragorn said softly and placed his hand over Daurir's. "My offer stands. You can stay here for as long as you like. And, one day, I hope you will look upon Minas Tirith as your home."

Daurir hesitated, clearly torn… and then he mouthed his next question.

_Why? _

Aragorn cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

Daurir took out a piece of paper from his shirt and then looked around, clearly looking for a pen. Motioning with his hand in a sign that the elf should wait, Aragorn called one of the healers. In a matter of moments, the pen and the ink was in Daurir's hand, and he started writing.

_Why do you want me to stay? What service am I to offer to your city? I can only think that you wish me to become a soldier under your command, yet that is the one thing I cannot do for you. I had enough of fighting and I only desire some peace._

Aragorn read the message and put the piece of paper down.

"Making you a soldier was the last thing in my mind," he said softly.

Daurir's eyes widened in surprise, but Aragorn nodded reassuringly.

"You have been in Rhûn long enough to know some important things concerning that realm. The fact that there has been illegal slavery in spite of the treaty I had these people sign is disconcerting. It proved to me that there is either not much political force to ensure the treaty is put to use or either enough to oppose it, something that has to be corrected. I want you to be my advisor in the months that will follow so as to correct this injustice."

Daurir remained staring at Aragorn for many long moments, and then, as he finally reached to a decision, he nodded and inclined his head in thanks. A genuine smile brightened his features, something that made Aragorn's gape with surprise. Daurir blinked at the particular reaction and he wrote again on the piece of paper.

_If I have done something wrong, I apologise. I was simply gladdened by such an honourable offer which I accept full heartedly._

Aragorn shook his head, smiling. "You did nothing wrong. It is simply that..." he hesitated. Would Daurir understand him or would he consider him mad? "For a moment, the way you smiled, you reminded me of someone – a friend."

Daurir cocked his head in curiosity, something that encouraged Aragorn to speak his mind.

"I do not know why I would make such a thought. Perhaps because I see part of his strength in you."

The elf shook his head. _I'm not strong. _

Aragorn smiled kindly and clasped his hand on Daurir's shoulder. "You endured everything to protect your nephew at all costs. That makes you strong in my book."

Daurir lowered his gaze mournfully. _He still died._

"You kept him alive long enough to feel free again. What better comfort could you possibly offer him?"

_His life was already little and it became even less._

"What do you mean?" Aragorn asked.

Daurir didn't write his answer this time. He simply sighed, then got up and walked up to the window. He remained looking outside in silence, while all Aragorn could do was watch him expectantly, hoping that his patience would be rewarded soon.

It was then that the man saw it: the tray of food, still on the nightstand, forgotten. He turned and looked at the elven form with a frown. He hadn't eaten? At all?

"How can you still stand on your feet?" he asked before he could help it.

Daurir turned around, surprised, and his eyes caught sight of the tray and Aragorn's look in his eyes.

_Oh. _He shrugged, and then shook his head, his answer clear. _I_ _am not hungry._

"This will not do and you know it," Aragorn objected. "When was the last time you have eaten properly? Answer truthfully!"

Daurir frowned without answering. Aragorn thought that the Elf was merely getting cross with him, at first, but he soon realised what was the problem.

"You do not remember."

Daurir actually blushed - it was enough as an answer.

"Very well," Aragorn said, rolling up his sleeves. "You will eat everything that is on this tray!"

Daurir stared at Aragorn dubiously, but the man was hardly fazed. He grabbed the soup-filled plate and the spoon near it and held them up.

"Take it," he said, "and start eating."

Daurir wasn't cross before, but he was certainly becoming angry now as he glowered at Aragorn and mouthed clearly: _I do not need a nursemaid!_

"Then take the spoon and the bowl, otherwise I will feed you like I was truly one!" Aragorn answered, his glare matching Daurir's.

Neither elf nor man moved for many long moments, contesting their wills against the other. In the end, though, the least expected thing happened: Daurir lowered his gaze not to show the grin that formed on his lips. Aragorn blinked, confused, but then Daurir took the bowl and soup.

Only then did Aragorn understand, and he smiled.

"Our argument was indeed ridiculous."

The Elf nodded, answering with a smile of his own, and then snapped his fingers. Guessing that Daurir meant to write something, Aragorn quickly placed everything the quill and the piece of paper near the elf.

_This time it was *you* who reminded me of a friend. You are as stubborn as he was. _

"I take that as a compliment," Aragorn said with a grin.

Daurir made a face that clearly meant "Of course you do", and then ate a spoonful of soup. The moment he tasted it, his eyes half-closed dreamily and he quickly had a second spoonful. In a matter of minutes, the soup had disappeared into Daurir's stomach, and Aragorn grinned broadly as Daurir accidentally let out a sonorous belch. The elf's face turned red at once and hid himself in his hands in embarrassment.

That undid Aragorn. Before he could help it, he started laughing loud and clear, something that made Daurir's face even redder.

"I am sorry. It was unexpected, especially from an elf," Aragorn said, after he was finally able to control his mirth somewhat. "I take it you were hungrier than you believed then?"

Daurir nodded, still crimson-faced, and then accepted the fruit that Aragorn offered him. A few minutes later they had been consumed as well, and Daurir bowed his head in thanks to the Man.

"You are welcome," Aragorn answered with a smile. In the next moment, though, his mirth died down, for Daurir tried to put the bowl back onto the tray using his injured arm. The elf winced in pain and dropped the bowl before he could help it.

"Easy, easy…" Aragorn said, picking up the bowl and then massaging the arm gently. "You should not have done that," he added, helping the elf lie down. "Your wound did not open again when you tried to save Hundor, but the muscles still suffered badly. Use only your right arm for any tasks for a couple of days if you can help it."

Daurir nodded his understanding and mouthed, "My apologies."

"It is all right."

Yet it turned out Daurir wasn't apologising only for the bowl. Writing swiftly on the piece of paper, he gave it to Aragorn to read.

_I heard you and Elladan talking. You are the king of Minas Tirith and yet you are here instead of looking after far more important matters._

"Since we both know that it is no mere illness that ails you, looking after you is also an important matter to me," Aragorn reasoned.

_It should still not outweigh the needs of your people._

"My people will understand when they learn that I see to the welfare of the elf who delivered their Queen safely back to Minas Tirith. And, of course, almost injured himself in his attempt to save a blacksmith from a blazing fire."

Surprisingly, Daurir's eyes widened. _Blacksmith?_ He scribbled hastily.

Aragorn nodded, though he was still puzzled by that sudden interest. "Yes, Hundor is a blacksmith; one of the finest ones, in fact. Unfortunately, his age doesn't permit him to carry on with this line of work; it needs much strength which he doesn't have anymore. I will have to ask him if he can think of anyone in the City that can replace him." Aragorn could have sworn that he noticed a spark of excitement in Daurir's dark depths; a spark that didn't fade away when suddenly Daurir yawned broadly. Aragorn smiled a bit at the sight.

"I think we should carry on this conversation some other time," he said, arising. "I should let you have some rest."

Daurir bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement and, to Aragorn's utter surprise, he picked up the pillow… and lay down on the floor.

"You cannot be serious!" he exclaimed, dumbfounded.

Daurir, however, was and he even waved his hand what it seemed like assurance that everything was all right. Aragorn couldn't understand it; that is, until realisation dawned on him.

"You have got used to it."

Daurir nodded, smiling weakly.

"All right then," the man said, smiling gently and getting back on his, "I'll leave you at it then. We'll talk again at breakfast. And, trust me, you _will_ eat."

Daurir nodded his understanding, and then his eyes slipped closed, sleep claiming him at last. All that was left for Aragorn to do was smile at the sight and then head out the door. Tomorrow was a new day…

TBC…


	13. Spirit Rekindled

The first thing Aragorn did early the next day was to tell a servant to serve breakfast at the great Hall, for he was certain his guests would be hungry. He regretted he couldn't join them in order to discuss the arrangements that were to be done for today, but he first wished to see how Daurir was faring. So, he headed to the Houses of Healing, another servant with a food-filled tray close to his heels, and knocked on the door to Daurir's room.

"Daurir?" When his knuckles touched the door though, it opened with a slight creaking sound and revealed to him that there was no one inside. Gasping, Aragorn rushed in and looked around. The room seemed tidy, and the nightclothes were neatly folded on the chair. Even the blanket had been placed back on the bed.

Worried, Aragorn went back out and caught sight of one of the healers walking down the corridor. "Have you seen the patient of this room?" he asked anxiously.

The healer stared at Aragorn in surprise. "He has left again?"

Aragorn sighed; he had got his answer. Worse, he couldn't afford to lose any time trying to look for Daurir at the moment, for he had heard news of Gandalf and the Hobbits approaching to Minas Tirith, as well as of Faramir and Éowyn also coming from Ithilien.

"Well, he is gone," he said. "Still I do not think there is need of worry. Just make sure he returns to his bed when you do see him."

"Very well, Sire," the healer replied.

Aragorn decided that that would have to do, so he returned to the Great Hall. He knew he was expected.

* * *

><p>When Éomer heard that his sister was arriving in Minas Tirith, he had his breakfast quickly and expressed his wish to escort Lady Arwen in order to meet her. The queen reassured him that he could come along, but he wouldn't be able to ride his own horse; its hooves were still on the mend. He could, however, take one of the other horses in the stable if he so wanted. Éomer thanked the elven woman for her kindness, and he hurried to the stable in order to find a horse that suited him.<p>

He was very much surprised when he noticed that his horse was tethered by the forge. And his surprise only became greater when he realised that it was sporting brand new horse-petals.

_How…?_ But his thought was cut short as he heard the sound of puffing bellows and metals banging together. The forge was actually operational!

"Gimli," he murmured softly. Éomer was sure that only the dwarf would have gone out of his way to put his skills into good use. He patted the horse's neck with a smile and then walked inside.

"Gimli!" he shouted over the sound of the banging. "Gimli!"

There was no answer but it didn't surprise Éomer; the banging was simply too loud. Still, Éomer wanted to say his thanks.

"Thank you for taking care of my horse, Master Dwarf!"

There was no answer this time either, and Éomer couldn't help but chuckle. Apparently, when dwarves worked, they hardly paid attention to anything else.

"Just do not forget yourself working! You said you and Legolas wanted to see Faramir and Éowyn, too!" he added in an amused tone, and then he headed out to saddle his horse.

He never saw Daurir coming from the inner room of the forge, his hands and face blackened. And, naturally, he didn't see him frowning, wondering if it had been his imagination or someone had indeed called him; nor did he see him shrugging his shoulders, deciding to get back to his work instead.

* * *

><p>Brego snorted loudly in impatience and Aragorn patted his neck, shushing him gently.<p>

"I see he would rather gallop through the plains then hold still," Elrond commented with a small smile. "This waiting has tired him."

"He is a horse of Rohan," Aragorn replied with a sense of pride. He looked at the horizon. "I hope Shadowfax doesn't let his own impatience run away with him and rides ahead of the Hobbits."

"Gandalf will make sure of that, do not fret."

Just then, a soldier rode up to Aragorn and Elrond, informing them that Mithrandir and the Halflings were approaching. As if on cue, a mighty neigh tore through the air and Brego answered it with a neigh of his own. In less than half an hour, Gandalf appeared on Shadowfax and by his side were a pair of ponies, carrying two familiar persons.

"Welcome, Gandalf. Your presence here brings warmth in my heart," Aragorn greeted cordially.

"And ours doesn't?" Merry piped in, raising an eyebrow in mock annoyance.

"Seems we're not needed here, Merry," Pippin seconded, following suit to his cousin's tease. "Well, since we've escorted Gandalf safely, we can as well turn back." And turning his words into action, he turned his pony in a motion of leaving.

Gandalf, Elrond, and Aragorn laughed heartily at that. "Peregrin Took, you cannot expect me to enter the city without you two at my side, can you?" the wizard asked.

"Not after the preparations we made for the most special of our guests," Aragorn said.

Merry and Pippin looked at each other meaningfully before facing Aragorn.

"After careful consideration with my friend and cousin here," Merry said, "we've decided to accept your apology and come with you."

"However," Pippin added, "we do expect to be welcomed with quite a handsome luncheon as soon as we get to the Great Hall. Though Gandalf can prove a good companion, he still has the unacceptable habit of stopping only once a day for meals."

"The table is already set, and the food is waiting for you," Aragorn replied with a big grin.

"Then what are we waiting for?" Merry exclaimed, his face brightening. "It's a shame to leave perfectly good food getting spoiled!"

And with that, both Merry and Pippin urged their ponies onward. Aragorn, Elrond and Gandalf followed, shaking their heads in an amused manner and they caught themselves chatting with the two Hobbits, learning of tides of Frodo and Sam. As they were headed towards the stables though, Merry and Pippin slowed down and stared at the burned wood in wonder.

"What happened here?" Merry asked. "Nobody was hurt, I hope?"

"No, be at ease, Merry. It was only a fire which we put under control quickly enough," Aragorn answered.

At that moment, the man froze and looked at the direction of the forge. Daurir was entering the building, carrying some wooden boards. Though Aragorn was relieved to find him at last, he couldn't help but wonder at the meaning of this. Was Daurir also willing to help repair the damages at the forge? But the man was told everything was in working order…

"Who is that?" Pippin asked, also noticing Daurir. "He is dressed like one of your men, but he's…"

"An elf, yes," Aragorn completed. "He's called Daurir. And before you ask the question, Master Merry, I will answer now: none of us know what his real name is or where he is from."

"I thought you would have found out by now," Elrond said, overhearing the conversation.

"I am afraid not. However, Legolas is quite certain now that Daurir is not from Mirkwood."

"It is not enough; there are still many elven realms to be considered."

"I know," Aragorn sighed. "I only hope he will tell us himself when he feels up to it." And with that he dismounted and, after helping down the Hobbits as well, he accompanied them inside.

Gandalf and Elrond didn't follow though. They still remained on their horses, looking at Daurir.

_I know what troubles you,_ Gandalf said then to Elrond, without a word coming out of his lips. _His movements; his manners; the way he looks at his surroundings; everything in him makes him different from other elves you have encountered._

_You can feel it too, then?_ Elrond asked.

_Only too clearly,_ Gandalf answered_. In fact, I would be so bold to say that he does not remind me of an Elf at all._

Elrond only stared at Gandalf, something that made the Wizard smile.

_I see I am not the only one who reached the same conclusion_, he said.

Daurir looked briefly a glance towards Gandalf and Elrond, as if sensing he was being watched, and then walked inside. Gandalf was about to comment, when he noticed that Elrond was looking surprised at something.

_What is the matter?_ Gandalf asked.

_His eyes._

_What of them?_

Elrond didn't answer though. Dismounting, he walked inside, soon to be followed by Gandalf. The half-elf knew what he saw and that had set him thinking.

* * *

><p>While Aragorn and Elrond were on their way to welcome the new arrivals on the west side of the White City, Arwen, Legolas, Gimli and Éomer were on horseback at the east side of the gates, waiting for Faramir and Éowyn. Even as they waited, though, Éomer decided to guide his horse close to Arod.<p>

"You did an excellent work on my horse's hooves, master dwarf," he said with a broad smile. "His gait has never been lighter or swifter."

Gimli stared at Éomer, puzzled. "What are you saying?"

"You did not mend these?" Éomer said in surprise, pointing at the horse's petals.

Gimli frowned and, after he exchanged a brief glance with Legolas, he dismounted to have a better look at the horse's legs.

"It is certainly nice handiwork," he said, "but I had nothing to do with it."

"What is amiss?" Arwen asked, overhearing the conversation.

"Nothing serious, lady Arwen," Éomer answered, embarrassed. "It was a misunderstanding. My apologies, master Gimli."

"Do not worry about it, my friend," said Gimli kindly. "I am still surprised though. I was under the impression the forge would not operate until someone replaced the old blacksmith."

"Perhaps someone has been found?" Legolas suggested.

Arwen shook her head. "I would have known about it. Nevertheless, I will talk to Aragorn about it as soon as we return." She lifted her head, pricking her ears. "That was a horse's neigh."

Éomer and Gimli pricked their own ears as well. "I did not hear anything," the King of Rohan said.

"Yet a horse neighed in greeting," Legolas said, helping Gimli up on Arod.

And indeed, in a matter of moments, Faramir and Éowyn's escort appeared on the horizon.

* * *

><p>Ceranos threw the iron bar on the furnace and, while it was getting hot, he put on the table every sword that he could find in the forge so as to examine their balance. Though a couple of them certainly needed a few taps here and there, he decided that most of them were very well-wrought. All he needed to do was sharpen their edges and polish them.<p>

He poured some oil in a bowl nearby and, after wetting a piece of cloth with it, he started working. Making sure that he wouldn't miss a spot, he carefully removed any trace of rust and placed each sword against the wall to dry. By the time he had done all that, the iron bar had melted, so he grabbed it carefully with a pincer and poured the hot liquid into a matrix to shape it into a spear.

Just then, another strange sound accompanying the sound of the bellows and the sizzling of the hot liquid reached his ears. He was whistling, something he hadn't done in years.

_Well, why not?_ he thought, a broad smile tugging his lips.

He walked up to the furnace and looked through the small opening to see how the fire was faring. Seeing that the fire was still burning strongly, he reached for his tools and started hammering again. A few melodious bangs later, he was holding in his hands a fine spear point, and he found himself swelling with pride.

He was forging again… Such was his joy that he never realised that the discomfort on his left shoulder was gone, and that he felt strong and full of life. All that mattered to him was that he had a lot of work to catch up on, and Mahal be his witness, he would see to it - even if it meant asking the king to let him inspect all weapons in the city. After all, that was his true element.

It was then that Ceranos remembered something. While he had been wanderin around the place, he had come across room that had weapons inside. Perhaps he could go there and have a closer look now…

He thought about it for a few moments, and he finally reasoned that it was worth a look. So, once he had put out the fire and cleaned himself, he hurried back to the halls.

He found the room quite easily, but, to his surprise, the door was closed. Could it be that the room was officially off limits to strangers?

Even so, however, he didn't want to back down. He reached for the handle, looked to his left and right to make sure no one was watching, and then turned the handle. To his good fortune, the door wasn't locked and so he was able to walk inside before anyone noticed him.

As soon as he stepped in, Ceranos couldn't help but look around, taking in his surroundings that were so filled with history. The drapes were drawn, permitting only partial sunlight inside. A bookcase with a few, yet very dusty and battered books occupied the space on the northern side of the wall and, on the eastern one, there was a statue of a Hobbit, clothed in real Orkish armour and clothes. Before Ceranos could wonder at it, though, his eyes caught sight of the southern wall.

Ceranos was never an elf to appreciate art made out of something other than metal or precious stones, but this time he felt he could make an exception. The tapestry depicted a great battle among several races; the elf could distinguish them easily. There were Men of Gondor, bearing the mark of a tree and seven stars on their chest, and there were also Men of Rohan, for instance. More than that, however, he also recognised individual faces in the crowd upon closer inspection. There were Elladan and Elrohir, Legolas, Gimli… and, lastly, King Elessar.

But who were they fighting?

Ceranos looked at the enemies, on the left side of the tapestry, and he recognised the race of Orcs. He also recognised the red banner with a black serpent on it, belonging to the Men of the South. And then he caught sight of the Easterlings' banner – a black scorpion encircled in yellow – that made Ceranos' blood boil in his veins.

He turned his gaze away, focusing on the huge gate on the background this time. It wasn't all that clear, but, even so, Ceranos managed to recognise it. It was the Gate that led to the land of the Enemy, an enemy with many names in every tongue: Gorthaur, Naruzbad, Zigûrun, Dark Lord – Sauron. The Black Gate of the Morannon.

Ceranos understood. The tapestry depicted the final great battle between the Free Peoples of Middle-Earth and Sauron. The one were Evil had been defeated once and for all, marking the beginning of a new age of peace and prosperity for everyone.

Well… almost everyone.

Sighing ruefully, he decided to steer clear from further depressing thoughts and he looked at the weapons displayed nearby. Three of them were swords, all up against the wall in a prominent position. He looked at the first two curiously and immediately shook his head. They were plain swords, without engravings on them.

_Man-made without a doubt_. Of all the races, Men were the ones more likely to make something practical rather than beautiful. At least the blades were sturdy…

The third one was better made, albeit nothing special except for its handle. It was symmetrical and two horse heads were engraved on it, enamelled with gold.

_A sword of Rohan, wielded by a lord._

Yet the sword that intrigued Ceranos the most was the fourth one. It was a two-handed sword, forged to resemble the swords of men. Its blade, however, was much lighter in colour, and its design was old, of almost ancient origin. That alone signified elven work. Who wielded that one though?

Ceranos got his answer when he looked back at the tapestry, noticing Elessar holding the same sword in his very hands. And as realisation caught up with him, the elf couldn't help but smile in approval.

_It served its master well._ Though Ceranos had been mistrustful of the man at first, he couldn't help but admit now that he had been wrong. That someone who shared close friendships with elves and dwarves and was well-versed to the elven lore could possibly be evil. The elf truly regretted his conduct now, and he wished nothing more than make amends. What better way to do that than offer his services?

But that would have to wait for a little while longer. He caught another weapon through the corner of his eye and he wanted to have a look at it too; for, to his surprise, it wasn't a sword. It was a double-headed axe, the dwarves' favoured weapon, except it hadn't been meant for a dwarf at all, judging by its sheer size. Who would have wielded such a thing?

At the next moment he gasped, a terrible suspicion creeping in his mind, and he quickly picked up the axe in order to read the runes on it.

_Made by my wielder to slay his foes and mine._

It_ was_ his! But how…?

"Daurir?"

The elf turned at the sound of the name, only to see Elrond at the entrance of the room, followed by his sons.

"Or, should I say," Elrond continued in a soft tone, "Ceranos Orcbane?"

TBC…


	14. Reunions

Elrond stepped forward, his footsteps breaking the silence that now reigned. "That is your name, is it not, young one?" he asked, regarding Ceranos in a gentle manner.

Ceranos caught himself nodding, even as the question that had formed in his mind struggled for an answer.

_How…?_

Elrond's lips tugged to a soft smile. "I knew there was something out of place about you from the moment we met. Though your features were elven, your demeanour was anything but elven - much like another elf that Aragorn had told me about. Yes, I remember the tale," he said, replying to the question in Ceranos's eyes. "Even so, I wasn't certain. Much has changed on you, both within and without. But today, I managed to have a good look at your eyes and saw the truth."

Elrohir walked up to them, a mirror in his hand, and he held it up for Ceranos to see. The mute elf stared at the image agape, for the colour of his eyes was no longer black; a shade of green was brightening them significantly. Scarcely believing what he was seeing, he touched the mirror and then his face, as if to make sure it wasn't merely his imagination.

"It is a strange fate," Elrond said quietly. "You first delivered to safety Aragorn, who's like a son to me; and now you delivered my daughter."

Ceranos looked up at Elrond, surprised.

"Yes. Arwen Úndomiel is my daughter. So I thank you now for saving her, Ceranos. I will always be grateful to you."

But Ceranos lowered his eyes, a sad expression settling on his features as he signalled his next words. _Everything that defined me as Ceranos Orcbane is no more. Therefore, that Elf is no more either._

"Because of your family's death?" Elrond prodded gently.

Ceranos nodded with a sigh.

"What of Aragorn?" Elrohir asked in that moment.

Ceranos shrugged. _He will live in my memories. I do not fool myself he's still alive; his old is bound to have caught up to him by now._

The half-elves looked at each other briefly, then faced Ceranos again.

"Ceranos," Elladan said slowly. "Aragorn is alive."

Ceranos didn't seem to register the words at first. As realisation sank in, however, his eyes widened, disbelief written all over his features.

"I can take you to him," Elladan said.

The mute elf frowned, but curiosity proved a more powerful sentiment. He nodded his acquiescence and he motioned his hand to the exit in a clear of _Go ahead. I will follow._

Elladan nodded and he beckoned Ceranos to follow him outside. As for Elrond, he noticed that there was a particularly thoughtful look in Elrohir's eyes, something that puzzled him.

"What's on your mind?"

Elrohir pursed his lips, hesitating. "I'm not sure if I should speak my thought."

"You know I've always listened," the elder elf pointed out.

Elrohir pondered on it for several moments, and then nodded. "We all fought the threat Sauron presented and defeated it. We all celebrate our victory. But what is to us a joyous occasion, to him it's a day of sorrow and loss. It seems… wrong."

"That is true," Elrond said, nodding. "But, now that he's back among the Free People's of Middle-Earth, he has a reason to rejoice with the rest of us."

"I suppose. That is certainly an encouraging thought," Elrohir mused.

"And yet something else puzzles you too."

"…As a matter of fact, yes. When we were elflings, you had told us dwarves had developed a sign language called Iglishmêk. That could be what he's currently using, isn't it?

"If it is, he must be using very simple gestures so we can understand him," Elrond said.

"And yet, did he not use Iglishmêk when he saw Gimli. Surely he would have wanted to communicate with a 'fellow' dwarf."

"Now you are trying to find answers that only Ceranos will be able to give. Who knows how wary or embarrassed, or even afraid, he felt. people that he didn't know, or embarrassed and, yes, even afraid. Gimli is a Dwarf, yes; but what other reasons did Ceranos have to trust him? His captivity hurt Ceranos not only physically, but mentally too." He beckoned Elrohir to follow him outside and they started walking don the corridor. "Yet know this: I am now certain he understands he's among friends, and he will try to open up more. Have you noticed with how much trust he looks upon us now?"

"I did. There was warmth in his eyes that wasn't there before."

"Precisely," Elrond replied with a smile. "And perhaps he can look upon us as his family from now on. Then he'll never be alone again."

"I hope so. I truly do," Elrohir said softly.

And with that, they continued down the corridors, heading to Aragorn's office. They had a feeling that that's where Elladan had taken Ceranos.

* * *

><p>After escorting the Hobbits and Gandalf to their quarters, Aragorn decided to catch up with some paperwork in his office. He looked up in surprised when he heard the door open, but there was no need for alarm – it was simply Arwen, standing at the threshold. Aragorn would have smiled at the sight, but he sobered when he realised that she seemed more than just a little trouble.<p>

"What is amiss?" he asked. "Has the party of Faramir and Éowyn not arrived yet?"

"They have arrived," Arwen replied. "They have already been taken to their room."

"Then what is the matter?"

Arwen locked her gaze on her husband. "Were you aware the forge has acquired a blacksmith?"

Aragorn's eyebrows shot up at that. That had been enough as an answer to Arwen.

"You were not," she said softly.

"I did not even put up a notification that the court was in need of one," the man said. "There must be some sort of mistake.

"There is no mistake," the elven woman insisted. "Someone mended the petals of Éomer's horse and the guards confirmed heard banging coming from the forgery."

"I only saw Daurir in there…" said Aragorn, already deep in thought. The only logical conclusion was that it was Daurir who operated the forge. But where had the elf learnt the art?

Just then, the door opened anew and Elladan walked in, followed close behind by the elf in question. Aragorn faced them, ready to ask Daurir the meaning of it all… but then saw the axe in his hands and indignation filled his heart.

"Why do your hands hold something that is not yours to claim?" he asked slowly, glaring at Daurir.

Daurir glared back at Aragorn, affronted, his hands closing around the axe more tightly.

"Peace… hold your tempers, gentlemen," Elladan said, raising his hands placatingly.

Daurir, however, glowered at Elladan and mouthed two words. _A jest?_

"No jest," Elladan assured Daurir, a half-smile tugging his lips.

The short-haired Elf looked back at Aragorn; then at Elladan; and, shaking his head, he started walking out. Elladan, however, clasped his hand on Daurir's shoulders, stopping him thus from leaving.

"Elladan, what is the meaning of this?" Aragorn asked, not understanding.

"Keep an open mind, and you will both find out. If I were to simply tell you, you would not believe me."

"Elladan, what are you trying to say?" Arwen said.

Elladan simply prodded her away. "Let us give them some space and you will see," he whispered.

Aragorn was hardly in the mood for games, but he decided to indulge Elladan, if only to finish this foolishness more quickly. He regarded Daurir closely, unsure what he was looking for.

That is, until he noticed it. Daurir indeed looked different, his stance more confident and his countenance much prouder; almost defiant, in fact. Even his eyes were brighter than before, the blackness receding as the youthful, fiery spirit within Daurir shone through - the spirit that was regaining its strength and willpower at last. The man caught himself taking a few steps back in wonder, and then his eyes got fixed on the dwarven axe once more.

Only then did the realisation caught up with him, making his heart practically miss a bit. For Daurir was holding the axe in a dwarven manner… or rather, in the manner of an elf _raised_ by them.

"It cannot be."

Daurir frowned visibly.

"They told me you had died!"

This time, it was Daurir's turn to take a few steps back. It didn't take great mind to guess that he believed the man had gone mad.

"Ceranos, it is I. Aragorn."

Daurir blinked the very next moment, the words stopping him in his tracks. Yet Aragorn had more to say. He had to make the elf _see_.

"We met on an early September day. I was travelling to Rivendell and you were on your way to Nogrod to celebrate Durin's day. The High Pass was blocked, so we went through the Mines of Moria as a form of shortcut. You saved me when I got captured by Orcs. You even gave me your pipe on the day we parted, each going his own way." Aragorn cursed inwardly to see Daurir's – no, Ceranos's – unreadable expression. You had even asked me as a favour not to watch you go. You believed if I did, we would never see each other again. And then, when they told me that you had been killed in battle, I thought that I truly wouldn't see you again…" What more could he say to Ceranos in order to be believed? "Why can you not see it?"

The short-haired Elf stayed where he was, his eyes locked on the Man for many long moments. Finally, he walked up to him in a cautious manner, and reached Aragorn's face. Aragorn wasn't sure what to make of it at first, but then the elf gently pushed back the man's lines of care. Only then did the elf seemed to understand, for his eyes widened in disbelief.

"You see it now, do you not?" Aragorn said softly.

In the next moment, Ceranos wrapped his arms around Aragorn in a tight embrace, as if holding on to a vision of his mind's eye that he was now afraid to let go.

"Ceranos, I cannot breathe," Aragorn said, half-teasing, half-serious. Even so, he returned the embrace with a smile of his own, scarcely believing that this was happening. How could this have come to pass? How was it possible that Ceranos was well and truly alive and standing before him?

Except… he knew how. Arwen had already told him. Ceranos had survived through pain, torment, and utter humiliation. So many things made sense now. Now Aragorn could understand why no one knew about this strange elf; what the dream was trying to tell him; and who was the nephew that Ceranos had to mourn. And the painful story that made his heart wrench in pity for the unknown elf hurt anew as he realised that the elf was hardly unknown. Aragorn's hands felt the short black hair, recalling in his mind's eye the way it had once been tied into a single long braid. H winced as he remembered Ceranos's bright look in his eyes… a far cry from the haggard, tired expression that the young elf sported now. And then, before he could help it, unshed tears started stinging his eyes, threatening to fall.

"What did they do to you?" he asked softly.

A sob tearing out of the elf's chest and the shuddering of shoulders as grief racked through him was Aragorn's only answer, yet it was enough. Aragorn cooed softly, trying to soothe his friend. The man wanted to tell him that it was going to be all right, that he wasn't alone anymore - that he wouldn't be hurt again. Yet it seemed impossible as the lump in his throat stopped all words coming out. All he could do was look up, seeing Arwen and Elladan watching the scene with a bittersweet expression on their own features.

* * *

><p>Later that evening, Aragorn excused himself from his guests and didn't join them for dinner. He stayed with Ceranos instead, telling him everything that he had done after they had parted so many years ago. Though Aragorn felt at times that their catching up was more like a one-way conversation, Ceranos didn't seem to mind at all. If anything, it seemed that what was really important to the elf was that he was in the company of a friend once more.<p>

Neither of them realised when night fell, so engrossed they had become. Finally, though, Aragorn realised that the young elf must have felt tired – he hadn't been fully healed yet, after all. So he escorted him personally to a small room that was going to be Ceranos' from now on.

"I asked them to furnish it for you," Aragorn said gently as he dug out the master key from his pocket. "It's nothing lavish, but at least it's homely."

He unlocked the door and pushed it open, beckoning Ceranos to step inside and see for himself. He watched the elf look around in curiosity and take in the sight of the wooden furniture and the desk – already equipped with writing material - by one of the walls; the mattress on the floor; and the small balcony overlooking the garden.

"What say you?" he asked.

Ceranos faced Aragorn with a smile of approval. It would definitely suit nicely.

"I should leave you to it then," Aragorn said, smiling gently. "We have a big day tomorrow."

Ceranos cocked his head, unsure what that meant.

"Minas Tirith will hold a celebration for Sauron's defeat tomorrow. That is why there are so many guests here," Aragorn explained. "There will also be a great banquet within the Great Hall in honour of the people who fought in the war, the people that I've come to consider friends. I would be honoured if you also attended."

Ceranos sighed and shook his head. _I wasn't there when Sauron was vanquished,_ he mouthed, signals accompanying his words.

"You still fought him, and you _are _a friend," Aragorn pointed out with a small smile. "Please, come. It will mean much to me and the others."

_The others?_

Aragorn smiled gently. "The people who've already met you and have taken a liking to you, as well as the people who have heard of you and wish to meet you."

Ceranos pursed his lips in thought, clearly hesitating. In the end, though, he nodded his acquiescence with a small smile. _I will come._

"Thank you," Aragorn said, smiling. "Elladan and Elrohir will come by tomorrow to help you prepare."

Ceranos nodded again, wincing as a yawn escaped his lips. Sleep was slowly casting its spell on the elf, and he realised it was high time he lay down.

"I should go," the man said, and then smiled knowingly. "I believe you want this," he said, and dug out of his pocket a small pipe that he now offered to the elf.

Ceranos frowned, only to blink in surprise at the next moment. _Was that…?_

"Yes, it's the one you gave me," Aragorn said. "I remember you saying that you couldn't sleep without smoking some leaf, so… here."

Ceranos smiled sadly and shook his head.

"You don't want it?" Aragorn asked, surprised.

_It is a luxury that I was denied for long and now I have no desire of it," _Ceranos signed.

The man sighed inwardly. "You really have changed," he said thoughtfully.

Ceranos lowered his gaze in a shy manner. _I have._

"But you know something?" Aragorn continued. "You're still Ceranos Orcbane, the elf who was raised by Dwares and became the patriarch of his clan. The same elf with whom I faced the dangers of Moria. That can never change."

Ceranos took in the words, and then his hand reached for Aragorn's, squeezing it gently. It was his way of saying his thanks to the kind words the man had uttered, and a way to say that he appreciated it.

Aragorn's lips tugged to a soft smile once more, and then patted Ceranos on the shoulder. "See you tomorrow."

_Goodnight, _Ceranos signed.

"Goodnight." With that final farewell, Aragorn exited and went to find Arwen.

* * *

><p>"I was blind," Aragorn said to the elven-woman as they both lay in bed. "All the signs were there, in front of me; yet I could not see them."<p>

"How could you see them, when you did not know what you were looking for?" Arwen asked. "You believed Ceranos was dead; you could not possibly imagine it was him."

Aragorn nodded weakly before heaving a heavy sigh. "What do you think they've done to him?"

"I do not know. And I am not sure I wish to find out; it must be something horrible."

Aragorn sighed again. "I hope he'll be able to tell us one day."

"Maybe he will," Arwen replied gently. "In due time."

**To Be Concluded...**


	15. A Feast To Remember

Minas Tirith was bustling with life before dawn, yet no one was working today. March 23rd had been the day Sauron was overthrown and peace reigned once more in the realm of Middle-earth, so, for the occasion, the King of Gondor had declared every citizen could visit the Citadel and see the items of historical value that had been kept there for safety: the Orc-clothing the Ringbearer had wore whilst travelling into Mordor; the weapons of the fallen heroes and even Narsil, the sword of King Elessar. They could also get a glimpse of the battle by the gates of the Morannon, or read a paragraph or two from the books that told of the king's bloodline.

Merry and Pippin did that as well in a wish to satisfy their Hobbit curiosity but as it turned out, it was easier said than done, considering the crowd that surrounded them. Fortunately, though, Gandalf soon joined them, and the wizard's presence alone made things simpler for them. And as they moved about, they were delighted to see themselves on the tapestry, fighting alongside Aragorn and their friends, and they felt proud to see their cousin's armour. Even the likeness of the statue in the centre of the room was uncanny, and they couldn't help but grin broadly.

Just then, Merry caught sight of something strange and stopped in his tracks. For indeed, he hadn't seen a double-headed axe of the particular size before.

"This can't be Gimli's! It's too big for him!" he exclaimed.

"Indeed not," Gandalf said, smiling at the Hobbits' puzzled face.

Pippin blinked. "Then you know whose is this, Gandalf?"

"Let us just say that I had a very… enlightening conversation with Lord Elrond last night," Gandalf replied. "You have already met the owner of this weapon, though you do not know his name."

Pippin groaned. "I wish you spoke plainly for once!"

But Merry had understood. "It's that Elf we saw on our arrival, isn't it? We have seen him, and though he's called Daurir, we don't know his real name."

"Well done, Meriadoc!" Gandalf said. "You haven't lost your skill in solving riddles."

"Though I have yet to solve the riddle of why would an Elf carry an axe," Merry noted thoughtfully.

"That is a story that Aragorn will probably be able to tell you better than I," Gandalf said. "All I can tell you is that he was considered dead till now, hence why his weapon is in here. And, in a way, he still is dead."

"What do you mean?" Merry asked, utterly lost this time.

"The War killed him, perhaps not in body, but certainly in spirit; just like it killed Frodo. And much like Frodo, I do not think he will ever be fully healed."

"Oh…"

Gandalf clasped his hands on their shoulders, smiling at them kindly. "That doesn't mean that they are beyond assistance. Frodo has you two and Samwise, and Ceranos will gain his own friends to support him in time."

That cheered up the Hobbits somewhat. They looked at each other for a moment, and then at Gandalf. "We'll try to help, too," they said.

"I was sure of it," was all the Wizard said with a smile, and they walked on to have a look at the books.

* * *

><p>Finally, the night of the great feast arrived and everyone welcomed it with excitement. There was music playing, wine and – of course – lots of food for the guests. Most importantly, though, the feast was a meeting of old friends who, after parting their ways almost two years ago, were now together once again.<p>

"Master Meriadoc," Éowyn said, "it is good to see you again!"

"Likewise, Lady," Merry replied with a grin

"Well met, friend Peregrin," Faramir said, greeting the second Hobbit. But, as he realised someone was missing, he raised an eyebrow of curiosity. "Is not Samwise Gamgee and the Ringbearer with you?"

"Not this time," Merry answered. "Sam's wife is due and so both Sam and Frodo stayed behind to look after her."

"What about Beregond?" Pippin asked then. "Hasn't he come with you, Lord Faramir?"

"Not quite, my friend," said Faramir, shaking his head. "Remember that Beregond has been banished from Minas Tirith."

"Oh! I had forgotten about it," Pippin exclaimed. "It's a shame. I missed him and I wished to see him again."

Faramir smiled. "Beregond wished to see you too. That is why he rode with me up to the gates and camped with the rest of the men outside the city. He's expecting your visit tomorrow morning." He leant closely as though to share a secret. "I do believe he has brought mushrooms with him."

"Mushrooms?" Pippin echoed, his eyes brightening.

"Oi! If there are mushrooms, I'm coming, too!" Merry announced.

"And leave none for me?! I think not!"

Faramir and Éowyn laughed at that. "Gentlemen," the man intervened, "I know Beregond, and I am certain he has enough rations for both of you."

That certainly put a huge grin on both Hobbits' faces; they couldn't wait till they saw the captain.

Meanwhile, Aragorn circulated in the crowd, his eyes darting in every direction. He saw Arwen speaking with Lothíriel; Legolas and Gimli conversing with Éomer; and Elrond was with Gandalf, sharing their discussion without needing to utter words. All in all, it looked everyone enjoyed each other's company and had a good time.

Almost everyone, that is. Three people were missing. Three _Elves_ to be exact: Elladan, Elrohir and Ceranos.

Aragorn frowned. What was delaying them?

* * *

><p><em> He is doing it again<em>. Elladan couldn't help but feel annoyed at that repeated motion that he kept catching sight of as he, Elrohir and Ceranos walked towards the Great Hall. After the first three times, it was gradually becoming too much.

_ There it is again_. Elladan glared at Ceranos, but it was futile. The young Elf was too preoccupied with his own concerns to notice anything.

At the third time, Elladan swatted Ceranos's hand away from the collar.

"Let it be! It is _meant_ to be around your neck!" And with a swift movement, he lifted the collar again and straightened it.

A pitiable expression settled on Ceranos's features as he pointed at his collar and clenched his fist around his neck in a mock-choking fashion.

Raising an eyebrow, Elladan examined the collar. "You are exaggerating. It is not tight."

"It is to an Elf who was raised by Dwarves, brother," Elrohir reasoned calmly. He turned to Ceranos. "Do not fret. Once at the feast, you will be among so many people talking at you that you will forget about the collar soon enough."

Ceranos blinked. _Many?!_ he mouthed, eyes widening.

"Well, of course," Elrohir said. "There will be Aragorn and Arwen, Legolas and Gimli, Father…"

"The King of Rohan, the Prince of Ithilien and the Steward of Gondor, Prince Imrahil - with their wives, too, naturally…." said Elladan.

"Mithrandir, Peregrin Took and Meriadoc Brandyback…" continued Elrohir.

"Not to mention the dozens of men and women from the court of Minas Tirith…" Elladan said.

"And let us not forget the servants, maids and musicians, brother."

"Indeed," Elladan said with a nod. "So, to finally answer your question, Ceranos…"

But the young Elf had already remained several feet behind, his eyes widened as he shook his head emphatically. _Too many,_ he gestured, almost panicking.

Elladan and Elrohir looked at Ceranos curiously, and then at each other.

"Brother, I do believe our friend is nervous."

"I whole-heartedly agree."

"Will you grab his left side or his right?"

"His right."

"Very well, then…"

And just like that, before Ceranos was able to do anything, Elladan and Elrohir grabbed one arm each and practically dragged the younger elf into the Great Hall in spite of his protests. The only thing Ceranos could do was try and make himself as small as possible when the doors opened. He discreetly tried to hide behind Elrohir, wishing to escape from all the stares that seemed to be directed at him, but it was of no use. Elrohir made sure that Ceranos was always at his side.

Just then, Aragorn came and greeted all three Elves, smiling broadly. Leaving Ceranos for last, he embraced the young Elf.

"I am glad you came."

_ I wish I hadn't, _Ceranos thought wryly, unbeknownst to the man. Still, he indulged Aragorn and followed him about, smiling politely as hewas introduced to all the guests, who seemed to be very pleased to make his acquaintance. That was something that Ceranos hadn't expected, and he soon felt loosening up, his smile becoming more relaxed and genuine. That is, until he noticed that a group of women looking at him and giggling for some inexplicable reason. Surely they weren't laughing at him, were they? He checked himself, trying to see if there was something wrong with his robes.

A pat on his shoulder made him look up again, and he blinked in surprise to see Thranduil's son leaning confidentially.

"You will get used to it," he said. "Women of the Men's race _always_ do that in the presence of a male Elf."

Ceranos regarded Legolas dubiously. Was Legolas actually telling him the women thought he was attractive?

Legolas nodded, seeing through him. "Did you not notice how their giggling increased significantly when I came near you? Two Elves to admire are better than one."

Ceranos blushed, feeling more than just a little self-conscious in that moment.

"Come. I will take you somewhere where you will be more at ease," Legolas said with a chuckle, and they both went to find Gimli. The dwarf was more than glad to see Ceranos, grinning broadly at him.

_ Nice to see you again, Orcbane, _Gimli signalled, using Iglishmêk and the title that Ceranos was given long ago among the darves.

_ Well met, Gimli, Glóin's son,_ Ceranos answered, smiling.

"I will let you two be for the present, I wish to speak to Prince Imrahil," Legolas said, chuckling softly as he realised that they had already gotten too engaged in conversation to notice. In fact, they didn't realize time passing until Ceranos felt another pat on his shoulder.

"Come with me," Aragorn said gently.

The next thing Ceranos knew, he was at Aragorn and Arwen's side in a small platform, and the man was asking everyone to listen to a few words he wanted to say.

"Friends and kin, we have gathered here today to celebrate for a great victory and the freedom we earned against Sauron. When it all seemed the darkest, every one of you gave your own fight, showing the Enemy in this way that courage, goodness and hope always endures. For this, I give you all many thanks."

Everyone raised their cup in salute, accepting Aragorn's thanks. However, the King of Gondor hadn't quite finished.

"Still, I wish also to say that this is not just a celebration. It is also a gathering so we can remember those who gave their own life so we could have peace. Though it is a sorrow that they're not here today, it is the sweetest of sorrows. Their strength and bravery will be always kept in our minds and our hearts, so that we can look up to them and our children can regard them as they should: as heroes."

All nodded their approval at this. It was then that Aragorn smiled.

"Today is also a blessed day for me, because I found a friend that I thought I had lost. He's standing next to me and you all have come to know him as Ceranos Orcbane. Some of you are probably thinking that you have never heard of that name before, or indeed this is a strange name for one of the Firstborn. Well, it would certainly have been had he not but for a twist for fate been raised by Dwarves and meant to live in the mountain halls for the most part of his immortal life.

"In spite of it, we still met, under the most dangerous of circumstances, I might add," Aragorn continued, smiling at the memory. "In four days we had managed to face the darkness of the world underground, the wrath of Trolls and hate of Orcs, fire and injuries… and yet pulled through. And it was more than enough for me to consider him a friend, even after we had parted our ways with a word of farewell and a promise that we should meet again.

"Yet, when finally came the time that I could keep my promise, I was told that my friend was no more. That he was slain fighting against the same evil we all had to face. And that's what I still believed until yesterday. When an Elf, coming out of the depths of Rhûn after suffering enslavement for two years, turned out the very friend I mourned. I want you all to welcome him as what he is already in my heart: A friend and a hero."

Everyone clapped, and Ceranos felt his face becoming crimson. He didn't see himself as a hero, he couldn't; not after what happened in Rhûn. So he got ready to step away, but two children stopped him.

No. Taking a closer look, he realised that those were no children. They were Merry and Pippin, the Halflings he met a short while ago – and they were now grabbing him by his legs!

"Awfully sorry, but it seems you have gone the wrong way," said Merry, grinning.

"That's right," seconded Pippin. "What sort of a reunion is that if you are to take the complete opposite direction?"

Ceranos stared at them incredulously for many long moments; then shook his head, smiling. He was bested. Turning around, he walked up to Aragorn, who was smiling broadly, clearly thanking the Hobbits for their interference, and embraced him.

"Welcome back," Aragorn whispered, returning the embrace just as warmly while everyone clapped once again and Arwen smiled. However, Ceranos had also come up with a little scheme and he got ready to fulfill it the moment he pulled himself free from the embrace. He smiled mischievously at Aragorn… and grabbed both Merry and Pippin and hugged them also – tightly.

"Merry, my poor back!" exclaimed Pippin.

"I think I heard a crack at my _own_ back, Pip!"

Such a reaction and the sight of the Hobbits' limbs flailing in the air proved too much. Laughter echoed throughout the hall and even the Hobbits were laughing. Yet the clearest laughter of all was Aragorn's, because it was of utter joy.

His friend's spirit was returning.

**To Be Concluded...**


	16. Epilogue

The feast ended in joy and much merrymaking. Yet, like all good things, this had to end also. And so, after renewing their bonds of friendship, everyone started departing for their own homelands. Faramir and Éowyn left two days after the festivities had ended, whereas Éomer and Lothíriel departed the day after, and so on and so forth. Soon enough, the only ones that had remained in Minas Tirith were Gandalf, Elrond and the twins, along with Legolas with Gimli. Now all that remained to be seen was what Ceranos would decide: Whether to stay in Minas Tirith temporarily… or permanently.

Aragorn sat in his private room, the one he always used when he wished to be alone, thinking back to the conversation he had with Ceranos the very next day after the banquet. He had told Ceranos that his offer still stood; the elf was welcome to stay if he so wished. However, all that Ceranos had signalled was that he needed to weigh matters first, to think. So, Aragorn stepped back, giving him the space that his friend had requested, but it been almost three weeks since then and Ceranos hadn't reached a decision yet. What concerned Aragorn the most was that no one else had seen Ceranos during that time. Apparently, the Elf had stayed in his room, thinking matters thoroughly.

It was then that he heard a weak knock on the door of his room. Aragorn frowned gently, as he wasn't expecting anyone.

"Come."

The door opened, and Ceranos stood right there on the threshold. The first thing that the Man thought was how well the Elf was recovering. He was still quite thin, of course, and probably Ceranos would never be able to rid the haunted look that seemed to darken his features. Nonetheless, he was recovering. That was a relief, at the very least.

"Welcome, my friend," Aragorn said at once with a broad smile. "What brings you here? Have you decided?"

Ceranos nodded slightly, and gave the man a piece of parchment to read. Feeling curious, Aragorn unrolled it.

_I am tired of wandering. I am willing to stay here, though I ask of you a favour. Though I was looked upon as a lord and a patriarch among the dwarves, let me be a mere blacksmith here. Allow me to consider the forgery my kingdom, for that is the best haven I could possibly ask for in these halls._

Aragorn looked at Ceranos, gladdened at the decision the Elf had made, and clasped his hand on his shoulder.

"You shall have your wish. But know this, Ceranos: to me and my friends, you're equal, and that's how we will always treat you."

The young Elf's lips tugged into a smile; a true, brilliant smile.

_ Thank you._ And he bowed slightly his head before embracing his friend in gratitude.

**THE END**

**A/n: Thank you everyone for your kind reviews. They meant a lot to me. :) Expect another LOTR story soon!  
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